The holiday season after a loved one dies is exhausting. It is exhausting because the poignancy of each ornament, stocking, favorite dessert, and Christmas tree farm outing, crystallizes the pain of their absence and their continued presence in relentlessly concrete, visible ways from Halloween through the New Year.
How we live into this tension, honoring their presence and grieving their absence, is the ongoing, organic, at times sloppy, endless work of the bereaved. It is not easy to do.
As my family and I approach the 10th holiday season without our son, Mack, who died suddenly on New Year’s Eve 2012, two weeks shy of his ninth birthday, I would like to share a few practices that seem to help each of us, though in different ways.
A Stack of Permission Slips
We have heard it a million times: everyone grieves differently. This is true, but it is very annoying.
It is annoying because I have had to learn to be patient with my husband, C, in ways that I would never have before Mack died. And, of course, he with me. The same moments truly do hit us differently and it still takes me by surprise. We have learned to give one another space, “I’m just feeling the feels,” we say to one another to give permission to feel what the other may not feel without question or judgement.
The first Christmas after Mack died, in 2013, we continued our tradition of cutting a fresh tree and putting it up in the family room. While C and Mack’s big sister, Iz, wrestled with the tree lights, I hung the stockings above the fireplace and decorated the mantel.
Tucked inside Mack’s stocking was a miniature stocking for Fiona who was his dwarf hamster. Mack had written Fi-Fi, her nickname, in marker across the top of the mini stocking and drawn a picture of her as well as he could with a Sharpie.
“That’s supposed to be Fi-Fi,” Mack explained when he hung it during the Christmas of 2012.
“I got it,” I smiled. And smiled again as I hung Fiona’s small stocking on the same hook as Mack’s and felt him near.
C came up behind me and whispered in my ear. “Mack’s stocking looks so sad. It’s so empty,” he said with tears. “It pains me.”
“It pains me, too,” I nodded. “But, I don’t know how to do this any other way? Iz deserves the best of us.”
A friend had shared with me at Mack’s wake that his brother had died when he was 15, the same age of Iz at that time, and that his parents essentially died as well. “I lost all of them,” he said, “even though my parents were still there.” His comment pierced me, stuck with me, and I determined not to lose both children, one to death and the other to my grief. C and I had spoken of this many times. I didn’t need to say it again. He knew.
“I know, I know. I agree. I just hurt,” he said.
We still hang Mack and Fiona’s stockings alongside ours. And, so that it doesn’t look so limp, we encouraged one another to drop mini Legos, Swedish Fish, or fun gifts that remind us of Mack into his stocking throughout the month. Then, on Christmas Day, Iz volunteers to open Mack’s stocking and we delight in the little surprises and trinkets that have made their way into his stocking throughout the month. Somehow the visible gifts are an invitation for his joyful presence to be with us.
Plan Ahead
If your child, your parent, or another loved one has died, and this is the first holiday without them, nothing can prepare you for the feeling of gathering around the familiar dining table with an empty chair. But, you can prepare their favorite apple pie.
As awkward as it feels, you want to talk to whomever is hosting ahead of time about how to remember your loved one as you gather for the holidays. You do not want to assume someone else is taking care of it. Or worse, that everyone arrives at the table and realizes the absence of that person has become a giant presence in the room because no one has acknowledged it!
Think of things like favorite desserts, a special nametag, or a candle, as a gentle opening for your loved one to be present with you.
Because Mack was our young son, we were able to step in as his parents and plan his remembrance at family Thanksgivings. We trade off Thanksgiving every other year between my family and my husband’s family, and the first Thanksgiving after Mack’s death happened to be with my family. I am the eldest of four, so Mack and Iz had six young cousins at that time – three more have been born since he died. We supplied balloons and markers and invited each family member to write a note to Mack, or draw a picture, on the balloon before blowing them up with helium and tying them together to the back of a dining chair as a way to include Mack and allow space to speak of him in a light-hearted way.
Since that first year without Mack, I still send a note to my parents and each of my siblings ahead of time to share the plans so that everyone is aware and there are no surprises. The whole family is supportive – “just tell us what you want us to do!” has been the response. Now, remembering Mack has become a part of the Thanksgiving tradition, even for the younger cousins he never met in person. We offer the opportunity and materials, but participation is not required, and not everyone does.
Put the Mental Abacus Away
It is hard, but important, to remember that grief is as unique to each person as their personality and giving permission for each family member to respond, or not, as and when they choose is a gift of generosity. Everyone at the table has passed through a threshold into a new terrain and learning how to live into life after the death of someone takes time and many permission slips.
Added to the death of your family member, everyone brings other losses to the table, some known and some unknown to those gathered. It helps for each of us to put the mental abacus away, to resist the urge to weigh and measure one another.
Above all, give yourself permission to remember and celebrate your loved one! There may be some members of the family who are strangely silent and disapproving of your ideas. You do not need to wait for permission to remember someone you love.
Bake the pie, light the candle, buy the gift, hang the stocking, make a donation in their name, cry sloppy tears, and laugh out loud at an outrageous card that you definitely would have given them were they still here, and buy it anyway!
Truly, truly, love does not die. Their absence is painful and their presence is endless love.
Use the chapter locator to find out information about chapters in your area. Locate a Chapter by selecting your state and zip code.
My son Ruben, nicknamed RJ, also died at 9 years old.
I was pleasantly surprised to read we have similar ways of including our boys in the Holidays .
I also have daughter, I try my best to work hard everyday at not abandoning her due to my grief.
She was 2 years younger that RJ, and is now older than him.
In the summer of 2018, the three of us were in a car accident, we almost lost her too.
It’s not easy to chose to stay present for her and celebrate holidays and life in general for her.
I appreciate reading your Limp Stockings and Empty Chairs story.