I Made It Through

That is to say — the holidays.

As the season began, I started to do the usual things. — pulling out tubs of decorations, choosing the photo for the annual Christmas card. But I found myself so emotional. I’d tear up just walking by one of Mike’s photos. I’d cry as I drove down the road listening to Christmas music. What’s going on, I wondered. This would be my third Christmas without him. Surely it’s getting better. Then I remembered a conversation I had at a grief counseling session the first Christmas after he passed. A gentleman there told me he’d lost his wife three years ago and was having a really hard time dealing with Christmas. It was the hardest he’d had. At the time, I was amazed. Now I understood what he meant.

Grief subsides, then it comes roaring back. I wondered what the upcoming holidays would be like.

I know I’ve said this before, but working through grief is hard. It’s a heaviness that doesn’t seem to leave. It’s like pulling a heavy tote. Too heavy to lift; you just have to strap it on and pull. So that’s what I did. There were things to do, plans to be made, a loving family that wanted to enjoy Christmas.

It took some coaxing on my psyche, but I pushed myself to do a few new things. I paid a ridiculous amount of money to have a company hang my outdoor lights. I’m pretty sure Mike would have frowned at the expense, but I was so happy with the results. And interestingly enough, in the process I smiled at the memories of the years we struggled (and argued) about hanging Christmas lights. Like the year Mike climbed on the roof and hung strings of orange and green lights — Irish, of course.

It helped to remind myself I was not alone in my struggles. One daughter was resuming what had always been her Christmas gift to the family: a photo book of our summer at the cabin. After Mike’s passing, she halted the effort. Now as she worked on the new book, she asked me to share some of my photos on line. When she called to tell me she’d received them, I could tell she’d been crying. “It’s alright,” she said. “I’m just so happy to have these memories.”

I also realized there were those for whom the grief was new and raw. A brief comment on my most recent blog post led me to believe something was amiss with the writer. Further research revealed that her husband had passed. He was a childhood friend of Mike’s and a groomsman in our wedding. It would be a difficult Christmas for her.

There’s value in focusing on others rather than onesself. So I pulled out the checkbook and made sure donations were covered, especially ones that were important to Mike and to the two of us.

Christmas approached, cards came, family arrived. Fortunately, I was able to keep my sadness to myself, and when we played our favorite Christmas song, “Fairytale of New York” by the Pogues, I raised a glass to toast Mike and enjoyed the family who surrounded me. And we all appreciated the new photo book.

Soon it was all over. Daughters and their families returned to their homes. A date was scheduled to take down the outdoor lights. Life as usual — almost. On one of those quiet (sometimes gloomy) days that follow Christmas, I pulled out all those treasured photo books Jill had done over the years — over ten of them. And I cried. Boy, did I cry. But I’m glad I did. Because I’ve discovered that you can’t have grief without gratitude. That joy accompanies sadness. As I looked at all those beautiful summer photos, I was so grateful for them and the memories. I was grateful for my wonderful family, treasured friends and good health. Because that’s how I live with grief — with the trifecta of faith, family and friends.

And that’s how I “made it through.”