The challenge of the Holidays
when everyone is dead
“The holidays mark a ritualized time of celebration when we come together, connect, and honor tradition with those we love. But for many all over the world, the holidays highlight absence, loss, grief and devastation. And among mang of us, it’s both at the same time.”
~Esther Perel
I struggle with the holidays: it’s probably quite obvious why.
My dead family members. My dead children and the dreams I had had for what my life.would look like and how that did not pan out. My solitude.
Now, I am Mennonite, Anabaptist, a person of faith. So, I do believe that Jesus’ life, sacrifice and example are truly the “reason for the season” as often read, so cheesily put. It is meant to be entirely about Him, a celebration.
And yet. Still.
I am also American and heavily influenced by the cultural teachings and propaganda that this is also a time of happy family togetherness. And it is not, for me.
Social media is filled with people putting up trees, baking Christmas cookies, buying and wrapping presents.
Every year I have to push myself to buy what Christmas presents I do and to not be a humbug. I push myself to get into holiday even a little, to do obligatory things like purchase a few gifts for close friends and a few select extended family members.
I come by this honestly: I remember my mother crying and being very depressed on Christmases, worried she had not given her kids a nice enough Christmas, with enough presents, etc. I recall her brother, my uncle, being even more quiet and down than usual. So that even my alcoholic and oblivious father noticed his behavior. Hard to tell what was going on with him—
But I do know that the holidays are hard for many people. Especially those grieving loved ones. Their presence is usually keenly felt especially on the holidays. Thanksgiving and Christmas. These holidays—where we believe we should be surrounded by a large table of extended family, good food, and happy, memorable times together.
I pass through stores and see all the gifts and candies and decorations and ornaments and trees and I cringe. I roll my eyes at Christmas carols on the radio and while shopping. I have absolutely no desire to put a tree up in my apartment, although I have a lot of room to do so in my two bedroom apartment.
Quite frankly, I don’t want to be reminded that it is Christmas.
My dear neighbors, two elderly women have created lovely little Santa-filled, winter wonderlands with their apartment decor. It is sweet and endearing and I like to visit them to see their Christmas joy. I admire it.
But I want nothing to do with Christmas decor, festivities or celebrations beyond what I must.
I ought to be thankful, and I am, as I have someplace to go where I am loved and received: I will go to my best friend’s home and celebrate with her and her husband. I will enjoy cooking for them and spending time in their cozy quaint home in Cleveland.
I have people. I have my chose, cultivated family. Not everyone has that, I know.
And yet—families in matching pajamas, large family portraits, and documentation of festive baking/cookie extravaganzas just tug at my heart and cause my stomach to sink a bit, each time I see them, at best. At worst—I feel an overwhelming cloud of loneliness, abandonment, despair.
I am reminded of something that my mother said to me years ago, after I had married. She told me:
You [and Jeremie] need to make your own traditions, start making new traditions.
I knew what she was saying and I know why now:
She knew she would die. Life would change for her kids. And she wanted them still to have joy and have things to do, to look forward to during the holidays.
I appreciate her saying this. And yet, I still hate the holidays.
Sometimes my favorite parts of the holidays are doing non-holiday specific or related things—like sitting on the ocean during Thanksgiving or eating an Indian meal during Christmas day several years ago, all alone.
I like to forget that these are the holidays. I enjoy the time off, but I like to know that they will soon be over. Then I breathe a little easier and don’t have to do this again until next year.
I often wonder if this will ever change.