When the Holidays Start*

This year, the holiday season didn’t really start for me until yesterday, Monday, December 17. I admit that I was pushing it aside. But I also had fully acceptable reasons for doing so. Only yesterday was I done with classes and exams. Only yesterday did I finish grading papers for four classes. (I suppose people often do that, hide pain behind perfectly legitimate excuses. It is why so many people who are depressed seem to be high functioning in one area of life, for example, in the job.) My plan was to ignore the season longer if I could. But then, last night, I attended a Suicide Survivors support group I’ve been attending for the last year.

At the group, it wasn’t only that talk had to do with how to make it through the holidays–though there was a little of that. Instead, my acceptance and movement into the holiday season had more to do with hearing from others, both those who are new to this kind of loss, and from those who have been facing it for years. For some reason, this was helpful, being able to see both sadness and hope. It was helpful to hear from people who are planting trees and flowers to the memory of a lost father or a lost son. It was helpful to hear from people a few years down the road now talking of their grief in terms of beginning to participate in programs to help others, and doing this to honor the memory of a lost brother.

I am noticing things changing from a year ago. I’ve passed over, very slowly, into the anger stage of grief. Right now, my anger seems mostly directed at the “system” that I increasingly feel let Michael down. It turns out that I am not alone even in that. But that is for another blog. I will just say right now that this was also a topic that comes up at the Support group. Professionals are not often as prepared to help with suicide prevention as we are led to believe.

In reading over blogs from last year, I have especially noted some changes I’ve experienced. This is clear enough from a blog I shared last December, which you can access here. In this blog, I wrote about not being ready to write about stuff dealing with the loss of our son. With this year, this has changed. I”m writing more poetry (some shared at the end of this–in rough draft form) and I’m getting into writing as a way to remember our son.

The Dread that Comes First
I will just say this about this year. Maybe others feel this way–the holidays aren’t a happy time for many. I’ve learned over the last year that my reaction to events and special occasions has been to dread the event by feeling bad in the days leading up to it. It felt this way last year for Christmas, and then for my son’s birthday, for his death day, for Thanksgiving, and again seems to be turning out the same for this Christmas. But I’ve also found that the day itself, spent with friends who knew Michael and also miss him, has helped us and has actually been positive.

So I’m learning not to fear so much, and I’m keeping this in mind in the anxiety-prone run up to the holidays. As I noted right up front, I have been ignoring a lot of the lights and music, tuning it all out so that I don’t have to deal with the other, darker thoughts. But knowing that the day itself will probably be okay, that we will do something to give room to our memories, this makes the whole period before the day less stark, less sad.

This is what a friend who lost his daughter told me he most dreads: he knows that he’s going places where no one gives any room for the memory of his lost one to surface. No one will talk about the loss. No one will talk about his child.

He is right. That is the one thing that can help those of us facing loss in this season of cheer. Leave room for talk and memories of those we need to remember. Don’t ignore it, as though to bring it up would be to bring up something we can’t handle. We’re already thinking about it. It’s nice to have others with us.

I hope that you will find rest and recreation this holiday season.

Thank you for reading. Best of the season to you.
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(*Note, this is the main content of my December Newsletter. If you’d like monthly installments of this, please sign up for my mailing list in the sidebar)