Lost & Found: Coping With Holidays After a Loved One Has Passed
My mother and I did not see eye to eye on many things. Politics, theology, and communication were all areas of tension. We did, however, LOVE. My mother loved fiercely. I’d like to say I loved her with the same degree of passion, but I don’t think anyone could match her prowess. Still, I loved my mother, even more than I knew. I love her more now than when she was alive. Love is so strange.
During the last few months of her life, as the pandemic was still a whisper, I fell in love with my mommy all over again; that makes me so happy and so sad all at once. It feels like we’d be having our best years yet. We had finally figured out how to communicate, how to hear each other, how to appreciate our differences and find beauty in the midst of life’s pain. We were so excited about mother/daughter living. I was actually making plans to celebrate her birthday with an outdoor Disney painting day.
Just before cancer. My Mom was so happy this day in Seattle!
If she was alive this Christmas, we would be making things together. We’d be watching Christmas movies and seeing the lights on Portland’s famous Peacock Lane. There are so many memories that could be our best ones ever.
Finding Joy
So what do we do when it’s the holiday season and one of “our people” is absent? How do we find joy if the memory-makers are gone? How do we not succumb to the idea that the good times are all in the past? I am definitely no psychologist, but here are a few things I find helpful as I proceed with this grief journey:
Acknowledge that nothing will ever be the same without that person.
This truth is actually quite freeing. My mother was the Christmas queen, and I will never replicate her zest for the birth of Jesus. From massive outdoor nativity scenes, to a snow village, to pounding carols on the piano, my mom was Christmas spirit. Admitting that I cannot replicate her provides relief. I can’t be her; I can only celebrate like me.
Run to the memories of your loved one.
Recall the things they loved about the holiday/event/occasion. Rehearse stories about them during that particular season or experience. This will often bring up laughter, which is so needed. If it brings up tears, that’s okay too.
I remember how my mom cherished an orderly gift opening session. No ripping into the gifts. No, no. One person at a time, and certain gifts had to be opened before others. This was a detailed operation. In her world, there was a right and wrong way to do everything. This makes me smile. And it also makes me want to rip into gifts!
My mom also thought my husband and I like Almond Roca. We do not. But we always found it in our stocking, her face beaming delight at how much we love it. Not wanting to crush her dreams, we would smuggle the foil-wrapped rock turds to my sister and her husband. So what do we do now? We continue to give Almond Roca.
Clearly express how you feel.
Journaling or writing a letter to the person might be super helpful. It’s been really hard for me to read and write since my mother died, so I’m working at getting back into those things. Some people record messages or videos, which can help if you’re not a writer. Whatever method you use, it’s okay to get that stuff out. I usually just talk to my mom out loud and let her know how she should be here and how much it sucks without her. But I also invite her to see how I am trying to find joy and beauty in a world without her.
Celebrate as if the person is with you.
Now, I’m not talking about getting a Lars and the Real Girl mannequin. I mean, you could if you want to. Having a stuffed animal, or a photo, or something that was important to the person with you while you celebrate can make them feel closer.
This month, I’ve imagined my mom finding enjoyment in me enjoying Christmas. I watched Meet Me In St. Louis (a movie she loved) and I pictured her with me, enjoying it now. What might we find to laugh about this time? To find unique?
🍰My mom was always on a diet, so now I imagine her in heaven, eating monstrous plates of dessert for Christmas. That helps my heart. It also makes me want a huge piece of cake.
Share about the person who is missing.
One of the hardest things about loss over time is that it can feel like that person has been forgotten. Telling the story of your loved one keeps their memory alive. That’s why I’m writing this little blog. Maybe you can find at least one person who will listen well as you talk about your beloved person. Light a candle for them. Let their story continue.
A candle I painted in memory of my friend Matthew Green who passed away earlier this year.
🎁Finding joy can be so hard. The first Christmas without my mom was so awful that it felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest. This Christmas, it still hurts, but it’s more of an ache than an open chest cavity. I hope one or more of these suggestions will be helpful to you. If you live long enough, you lose people you love, but you also gain awareness of how much you loved them. This is a deep pain, but love is worth it.
❄️🔭This Christmas, I imagine my mother looking down from heaven with a special telescope that lets her see she is not forgotten. She knows I miss her everyday. She sees me painting ornaments and singing and reading A Christmas Carol. I can’t bring her back, but I plan to hug her again on the other side, all because of a baby born in a manger. In spite of the pain, I agree with Tiny Tim and declare, “God bless us every one.”
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*This is all advice from me. Please consult with a mental health worker for professional care in your own grief journey.