It’s been a tough month, in the midst of an already tough year, which I’ve shared about here. My 21-year-old nephew Max died of lymphoma in May and our family is moving through our first holiday season without him. My amazing sister-in-law continues to post in Caring Bridge once a month where she’s written about their journey with Max since he was diagnosed last September.
Her posts are always eloquent and poignant and recently, she shared a beautiful message that their minister had sent her… here’s an excerpt and I really encourage you to read the rest in her Caring Bridge journal:
“Holiday host etiquette: If you’re inviting someone to your home and they’re grieving, be sure you’re inviting their grief to attend, too. It will be there, anyway.
Don’t invite someone with the goal of cheering them up for the holidays. Don’t expect them to put on a happy face in your home. Don’t demand they fake it till they make it or do something they don’t want to do, either.
Invite them with the loving intention of offering cheer and companionship and unconditional care during the holidays. To do this, you will need to honor and be responsive to their needs and emotions.”
After reading her beautiful words, I decided that I wanted to write about “grief and the holidays” this month. And that’s when things went sideways.
Another kind of grief
Within hours of settling on my “theme”, I got a call that one of my dear friends, mentors, and goddess-sisters had died unexpectedly. Marsha Lehman was one of my teachers when I first did my coach training almost 25 years ago, and we’ve been connected and collaborating ever since. And for the last 12 years she’s led a bi-weekly prayer group with me and 4 other coaches that’s been so loving and supportive on every level. (You can read more about her on my Facebook page). The news left me reeling and numb.
Two days after that, I headed out for a weekend with the 10 fabulous females in my family — 3 generations ranging from my 91-year-old mom, to the four 30-somethings (that’s all of us in the photo above). We shared terrific food, lots of wine, and talked, laughed and cried for hours. It was healing, intimate, revelatory, and yes, joyful. Such a blessing.
And in the weeks since then, the roller coaster has continued. The Omicron variant has swept through my beloved hometown of New York City, laying low two family members (they’re OK now), upending our Christmas plans, and decimating the fragile hope I was holding that we’d be able to move towards some semblance of normal in 2022.
Apparently, not quite yet.
Celebrating our exquisite human-ness!
It also reminded me about something I wrote here in the last few months as I’ve shared my own grieving process with Max. Not a new idea, but a powerful one — that what makes us fully, exquisitely human is our capacity to hold many emotions at once.
Yes, I’ve felt the deep ache of Max’s death for the last 7 months and now the acute pain of Marsha’s. But I’ve also reveled in my weekly dates with my granddaughters, and special times with friends and extended family over the Thanksgiving weekend which have continued through the holiday season, even if there were a few blips along the way!
So, basically, that means I don’t really know from one moment to the next whether I’ll be sobbing or laughing and that’s OK. I just have to remember to keep checking my mascara before I get on a Zoom call!
I certainly do send heartfelt wishes that your holidays have been filled more with joy than grief this year, and that you’re looking forward to a New Year filled with renewed hope, vibrant health, and new possibilities. Whatever the balance is, just know I’m here to celebrate and/or commiserate.