It was a sweltering day in October in Tucson. I dialed my mother’s hospital room as I drove to a clinic to do a presentation on “Coping with Holidays and Cancer.” (Yes, I know, I should not have been on the phone while driving –we did not know better then—). The stress in the car was visceral; I was the director of a cancer support organization, and the holidays were a dreadful time for our clients and my mother was in Houston dying of lung cancer.
I would be seeing her in person the next day but as I processed what I was going to say to families and patients in the audience, I could not help but wonder how my own family was going to cope. Not very well was my guess. So, I reached out to mother. I told her that one of my favorite memories of her was that she was a dancing and singing mom. “You liked that?” she said. “Of course. Thank you.” I replied. That was the last conversation I had with her; she died the next day while my family and I were enroute to Houston. We had moved from a family coping with cancer to a family coping with grief.
David Kessler (www.grief.com) says it so well: “Your absence is loud this holiday season.” The poignancy of our current pandemic-strickened times combined with personal loss can be devastating for families trying to cope with the death of a loved one.
Traditions and memories are particularly strong during the holidays; even people who are typically not interested in engaging in the festivities have stories and food and decorations and music and gatherings in their DNA from the past and when they include those who have recently died, it can be bitter and painful.
When someone important in our lives dies, we must create a new life with them. Even though their physical bodies are gone, they have a presence in us. We are in a new relationship in which the memories– good and bad and feelings– good and bad– are still present. So how do we do that?
In her book “Being with Dying,” Buddhist teacher and death doula, Joan Halifax speaks of an old Zen saying, “Fishing with a straight hook.” This means look for no results. Just exist in the here and now.
In my doula work, we speak of “holding space.” That is a version of the same thing: not expecting a particular outcome, not pushing for a specific result. It is a powerful discipline and one which I am suggesting would work well for those around us who are grieving.
So, what would that look like? A part of that might entail honoring the old traditions, or creating new ones (for example, donating a gift in their memory), or doing nothing at all. It could mean sitting quietly with a crying person without trying to repair or take away the pain. It means being in yoga pants and the house for the entire holiday season. It might mean going to a holiday gathering for only 10 minutes and that being perfectly fine.
In other words, there is no right answer. There is no right way to grief. But we can be present in a soft and gentle way which is supportive and just enough.
In his beautiful, painful book about the death and grief for his wife the poet Jane Kenyon, Donald Hall says it painfully in “Letter at Christmas.”
The big wooden clock you gave me
our first Christmas together
stopped in September.
The Bristol Watch Maker
Kept it six weeks. Now it speeds
Sixty-five minutes to the hour, as if
It wants to be done with the day.
When I try talking with strangers
I want to run out of the room
Into the woods with turkeys and foxes.
I want to talk only
About words we spoke back and forth
When we knew you would die.
I want never to joke or argue
Or chatter again. I want never
To think or feel. . .
For these holidays, I wish us all peace and quiet. Time to reflect. Whatever we do, it will be exactly right.