On Grief, Christmas, and a Stockingfull of Suck

Hi Beautiful Human,

My mom died this year and wow Christmas sucks and haha, joke’s on me - I’m literally a red-nosed reindeer. Are you the same? Then come with me - while this is really a letter to myself, perhaps it will be of comfort to you, too.

In the past, I was all cute and angsty about how I hated the green jello salad and whyyy do we need a relish tray and ugh capitalism is the worst.

But this year? DAMN. My Grief is like an unruly drunk - loud, obnoxious, obstinate, awkward, unsteady, out of tune and weepy - and there is no bouncer on earth who can kick it out.

Do you also have Grief’s barf all over your shoes? Great. This one’s for you, pal. Cheers and whatever. Here’s a hanky.

I can’t do this alone, so I will be your compassionate witness. I see you and I am with you. This pain is greater than any I’ve ever known, and I don’t know how you’re even standing right now. Bravo for that. Or hooray if you’re not standing but you’re still breathing. Well done, you. You win already.

I honor the moment when your slight smile at a Christmas tree is hijacked by a screeching longing for what is now gone, even if that thing is something as stupid as green jello salad. I honor any violent inclinations you may have towards fair-isle sweaters and plastic snowmen, and applaud your imaginative thoughts of untethering inflatable santas and silencing those freakin’ bells.

I honor your hardship, and your loss, and the constant sting behind your eyes, and the tightness in your jaw, and throat, and chest… and that awful feeling of catastrophe/despair that threatens every edge of your thoughts.

I honor how you feel that you weren’t able to do enough to keep Your Person from leaving. I honor your guilt at That Thing You Said that Hurt Your Person That One Time. I honor any shameful sense of relief you might feel that your watch has ended. I honor the faces you make as you battle the tears that won’t take no for an answer when you’re in a public place. I honor your attempts to be festive even when you feel like a monstrous, useless lump of flesh. I honor your secret bitterness that the world does not stop to honor your grief but instead plays stupid Christmas music too loudly.

You are beautiful for having loved so deeply, and yet I hate this for you.

Your grief is a sacred part of you now, whether you like it or not. You can honor it, and Your Person, by loving yourself fully and letting your grief roll through you when it comes. It’s a fool’s errand to try to stop it, so lean into it already.

Allow your grief to take your breath away. Allow yourself the sanctity of snot and tears and incomprehensible sounds as your knees buckle. Allow yourself to scream into a “ho ho ho” pillow and feel weirdly kinda great about leaving slime and mascara on it. On average, the waves pass in about 7 minutes. But if you keep them bottled up, you can be spiritually disfigured for a lifetime.

So, after you’ve sobbed, have some water (not yet whisky trust me), take a few deep breaths, and reach out to a real, true-blue kinda friend. Each of these will replenish you, and you need repair. (There is zero value or nobility in denying yourself care, so staaaahp it if you’re tempted. Let Jesus have a birthday already.)

As for reaching out: it’s a process, but it’s important. Many people around you have not gone through deep loss, and they won’t know - AT ALL - how to deal with it gracefully. (You won’t either, so things can go partridge-shaped. It’s okay. We’re all new here.)

People can be stupid, so when you’re grieving, some people might look at you funny and steer their kids clear of you. Or some might tell you in so many words to get over it already. Or some might try to fix you and 🎶 Make It All Better. Bless their stupid hearts - these are not your people right now. Maybe someday.

Your people likely have experienced dark nights of the soul too, and they will never make you feel awkward because you just need to breathe on the phone with another person. They will tell you that you are loved and that you are not alone. They will say something that makes a snot bubble come out of your nose because of the sacred humor that is shared only by those who grieve. Your people will give you space, but will depend on you to know how to show up for you. LET YOUR PEOPLE SUPPORT YOU. SHOW THEM EVERYTHING.

We were never meant to do this alone. The truth is that you will never replace Your Person, and you will never be the same after their loss. The only way out, I’m afraid, is through.

At a later time, you will have Sunshine to feel on your skin, and Love to give to those who’ve earned it, and Laughter to share, and Capitalism to Disrupt, and and Curiosity to satisfy, and Eggnog to Debate.

But for the moment, it’s perfectly okay just to 🎶 let Christmas suck. 🎶 There is grace to be found in surrendering, and healing to be found through connection. Those plastic snowmen are on their own tho.

With Great, Dog-Eared Love,
Nicole