Slow Down Where It Hurts: Grief and the Twelve Days of Christmas
By: Heidi Carrington Heath
Tags: Pandemic, Grief And Loss, Grief, Holidays

Slow Down Where it Hurts: Grief and the Twelve Days of Christmas

Thirteen years ago this year, on December 23rd, I made last-minute plans to fly home to Upstate NY on the busiest travel day of the year. One leg of my flight canceled. I got rerouted through LGA. I had to run between multiple gates and got on the tiniest plane in a tremendous winter storm. There were maybe thirty seats on the whole plane.I spent the entire flight relatively sure I was going to die.

I got off of the plane in Syracuse, NY. As I exited security, my cousin’s tiny toddler (having just turned one) toddled around the corner to meet me. I promptly burst into tears. My cousin spoke the words I already knew: “it won’t be long.” As the rest of the world reunited with family to celebrate Christmas, my beloved grandmother lay dying in a hospital bed about an hour from the airport. The next day, I would kiss her forehead, thank her for all she was to me, say goodbye, and wait for the call that she had slipped quietly to be with my grandfather. It was only hours.

My family sometimes struggles to talk about our feelings. It’s not always our strong suit. But one thing we know how to do VERY well is gather. We don’t need to know what to say to hug each other, eat food together, and be reminded that for a moment the fact we love each other is what matters most. While the hustle and bustle of Christmas raged on in the rest of the world, we gathered. We sat around a Christmas tree and tried to open presents, but the room felt like someone had sucked all the air out of it. We opened the presents meant for her, and laughed, because we knew she’d say we were being too serious. We joked that there really were easier ways to bring us all home for Christmas if that was indeed what she wanted. I am not sure Christmas has ever been the same.

Ten years ago this week, my relationship of many years ended. We had tried all of the hard things that you try. We had gone to counseling (individually and together). But the best way to love each other well was to say goodbye. We held each other, we thanked each other, we cried, and the next day we began the painful process of untangling our lives. Three days later, my best friend of nearly ten years walked out of my life and never came back. She was undone by the separation, what it signified for her own life, and what she thought it meant for our friendship. I didn’t hear from her again after the day I watched her disappear from a cold, Boston Starbucks like something out of a movie.

There is much I could write about the way either of those things shaped me, or the space those goodbyes left in my life for other relationships. But sometimes I think we rush over the places where it hurts. Especially at the holiday time, we are anxious, eager even to focus on the happy pieces. It can seem there is no space for the hard stuff.

Surprise! It’s still Christmas if you didn’t know. Christmas technically lasts in the church calendar until January 5th. One of the things I most appreciate about the twelve days of Christmas is the chance to slow down where it hurts (especially this year). To linger for a moment on the memories we have carefully tucked away, or the undone goodbye. To feel both the profound joy, and the deep sorrow. I can celebrate, and not shortchange my grief.

Friends, today, take a deep breath. Feel your grief. Cry those tears. Reach for the hand of your beloved that is no longer there. Let your breath catch when your grandfather’s chair is still inexplicably empty. Hold your broken heart in your hands, and wonder how this happened. Feel the heart break of the thing you wanted so desperately that is not to be right now. Grieve the profound losses 2020 has brought. You aren’t doing it wrong. You’re doing it exactly right. We’ve got you.