Getting Through the Holidays

Last year was our year of “firsts”; the first birthday, first wedding anniversary, and then the “first” holidays without my husband. Since I was in survival mode, I had no desire to decorate or celebrate the holidays. I just wanted to get through Thanksgiving and Christmas. What I learned then and want to share is how does one get “through” the holidays while grieving.

One of the first steps I took was to decide not to do certain things. I gave myself permission to not decorate, not shop, not get stressed out, and not attend every event. It felt weird at first, but I discovered that I couldn’t fully embrace the “most wonderful time of the year”. There was a sense of recognition that I was grieving, but it gave validity that I didn’t have to do it all, especially with such a void in my life.

I also found myself remembering past Christmases that held meaningful traditions, while creating some different traditions. When my daughter came to me and requested that we do a Christmas card and letter (something we had done since my children were born) to send out, I cringed. My first thought was, “this is going to be too painful”. During the summer a dear friend offered to take some pictures of my children and I, giving a redefinition of what our family looked like. With that, we made a Christmas card with the three of us and a letter to send out to friends and family. What I heard from others who received it was surprising. People appreciated it. They needed to grieve with us. Our Christmas picture became a reminder to pray for us. A few weeks ago I was with a friend who had left our Christmas picture up on her refrigerator. It was a gift that gave me validation that it was a good thing for me and for others.

When you lose a loved one, the holidays are hard. Give yourself grace, space and permission to grieve and remember your loved one. Whatever you decide to keep as a tradition, you can also choose to make a different tradition as you navigate the journey of grief during the first year of “firsts”.

In The First Year of Loss?

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Grateful, Yet Grieving

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Between a Rock and a Hard Place

One of the things on my bucket list has been to visit a National Park every year. This year I made it to Zion National Park and Bryce Canyon National Park. Both contained beautiful landscapes of rocks, crevices, and mountains. On one particular hike in Bryce Canyon, I discovered a trail beneath the massive rocks, that led through the valley floor of the canyon. At one point, there were two rocks that formed a wedge where you could see the other side, like an eye of a needle. It was literally, the space between a rock and a hard place.

In some ways it formed the picture that I couldn’t put words to, in describing my first year of grieving the sudden loss of my husband. I was climbing between two massive rocks, my past and my present, and trying to move up, and not stay stuck in the place where I was. The climb up and out had to be calculated, step by step. I had to figure out where to place each of my hands so that I could then position each foot so I could determine my next move.

The discoveries that lie in the space between the rock and a hard place aren’t easily seen. What I discovered in that space was how my faith was carrying me through. My relationship with God became my lifeline and reading the Psalms of lament were reflections of my heart cries . The last verse of Psalm 88, “darkness is my closest friend” gave words to where I was. Other Psalms of lament expressed my sorrow and sadness, and yet reminded me that God was still there. In Psalm 13, David cries out to God, In verse 2, “How long will my enemy dominate me? Consider me and answer, Lord my God.” And then in verse 5, David says, “But I have trusted in your faithful love.” David expressed his pain, poured out his heart and proclaimed that God was still worthy of trust and completely faithful in His love.

In that small, sliver of light between the rock and the hard place lies a glimmer of hope; hope to keep going and not get stuck. Life will have places that we find ourselves stuck between a rock and a hard place. It’s there we must choose to look for a sliver of light that gives hope.

In The First Year of Loss?

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Grateful, Yet Grieving

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