My precious Alex.
My own angst started a day or two before Thanksgiving – dread surrounding the traditional family gathering at my sister-in-law’s house. The anticipation of intolerable noise levels. Well intentioned but annoying small talk. Too much food. Dishes to wash, dry. When, in fact, all I really wanted to do was sit quietly at home, in my sweats, rehashing sacred memories, saying his name out loud, over and over again. AlexAlexAlexAlexAlex. My husband has become a pro at detecting the teetering, and when he began sharing his own demise, all I could do was say, “No, no, I called it first.” I’ve come to prefer it if one of us remains sane during these episodes.
This evening, I received an e-mail from Nancy. As you might imagine, after writing Griefland together, we can finish each others’ sentences and neither of us has to mince words when it comes to talking truthfully about how we’re surviving the minutes, hours and days of this ordeal. There are no rules or protocols. Grief shows up on its own terms. “Help! I’m on the verge of December,” she wrote. Both of us were melting into the earth simultaneously, and suddenly grabbing hold of each other. Tight fisted. Hanging on by finger nails. In the middle of us doing so, I received an SOS text from another resident of Griefland, a beautiful young woman who has lost both her sister and mother, and before I knew it, we were forming some sort of parachute or safety net for whoever needed to free fall with us as these holidays make their entrance.
Nancy’s precious Rachel.
Admittedly, there is dread etched into every letter of this month, despite the festivities, musical interludes and twinkle lights. If ever there was a time to grab hands and embrace each others’ journey, it’s now. Whether your grief is fresh or ancient (as if it ever gets old), we’d love to hear your voice. How are you managing? What gets you through the holidays? Share your stories here with us. And by all means, say their names out loud.
My only strategy this season will be to stay home and avoid all festivities. It has only been 27 weeks since my son died suddenly and EVERYTHING reminds me of his absence, of what we had, of what should have been, of hopes and dreams crushed. I really don’t want to spoil other people’s parties and celebrations, so I am not planning to attend anything. Maybe someday I will be able to spend time with others again, but not this year. (I should mention that my husband and I have no family in the city where we live, so it’s not that we’re avoiding family….just avoiding friends and acquaintances.)
Thank you for writing today and helping me to maintain my sanity. I should have read this post before venturing out today. My husband got it in his head that he wants to hang Christmas lights and we needed more bulbs. He asked me to come along and what I thought was going to be an easy trip to Ace Hardware, was another trip through hell. I suddenly found myself standing amongst Christmas lights, bulbs, train sets that circle the tree, toys, rocking horses, and little ornaments. I became paralyzed, was hyperventilating in the store, everything looked blurry and I felt like I was going to throw up. He noticed where I was, grabbed me and we came home directly, where I am writing this now. A day I thought was going to be fairly “normal,” became another nightmare, and quite frankly, I’m coming to realize I don’t want to go anywhere either. We don’t have family in the area, either, and I want to spend the rest of this month taking my zanax, taking care of myself, working on finishing up the semester and grading final papers, and sitting for long periods of time, staring out of big bay windows. As crazy as this may sound, but somehow I think it won’t sound that way to you, sometimes being alone and not doing anything is just what we need to be doing. Thank you again for this post, dear woman. You have no idea how much you gave to me just now.