When Things Aren’t Merry or Bright

Photograph taken at the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art

There is a big push this time of year for image management. Nearly anywhere you look there are guides on preparing the right meal, the perfect card, the amazing party, and an inspired holiday letter. There is pressure, real or imagined, to appear that you are pulled together and enjoying every minute of this season.

However, there are many who are experiencing untold suffering, and this time of year is filled with angst and sorrow. If you have experienced any sort of loss (job, divorce, death, friendship) then you can somewhat relate to these sentiments. Sometimes things aren’t spectacular, and you haven’t had a banner year filled with abundance. There are moments when someone asks how you are doing, you nod, clench your jaw, bite your tongue, and reply with the happy answer because it is far easier than explaining your despair.

Whenever you tell others that everything is “fine,” I wonder if you are really trying to convince yourself that your heart isn’t breaking? Instead, why not practice brutal honesty? This may counter your spirited holiday logic, but being honest with yourself is one way to fierce contentment. Fierce because at this time of year it isn’t natural to express sadness; and yet, contentment often follows when you can give yourself a dose of honesty. For those who have suffered a significant loss, whenever it occurred, the void that the person left is often more palpable during the holidays. It isn’t unnatural to see a certain item at a store and think about your beloved. Sending out cards without your child’s name on it is beyond difficult, and this sadness won’t easily dissolve. Walking to the grave from your car are the longest steps you will take. These are moments you never thought you would encounter.

However, being completely present with your grief and rawness is difficult. Many spend years avoiding these moments. Some feel pressure to act as though they feel special spiritual healing and experience guilt for not experiencing faith as they once understood it. Practicing this sort of raw and brutal honesty, rather it is through meditation, journal writing, or prayer won’t bring back your beloved, but it will allow you to be present with your sorrow. This is the bare bones of loss. You are emotionally naked and completely vulnerable and this is why it takes an incredible amount of bravery to even enter into this space. It actually takes practice becoming this open. Some call it the road untraveled; others refer to it as holy time. Whatever you call it, healing is taking place, even though it may be in small increments.

The path to contentment isn’t found in the aisle at your local department store. For many it is discovered in the small tender moments while there’s a lump in your throat when a piece of music is played or you when you find a photograph of your loved one. The most beautiful things come to us when the light is silent and darkness is bright.

Published in Huffingtion Post Healthy Living on 12/16/2014

When Father’s Day is Bittersweet: One Woman Remembers Her Father

This Father’s Day will mark 35 years without my father.

He died in 1979, just two weeks shy of my fifth birthday. My mother remarried a few years later; however, Father’s Day still remains a difficult holiday. Like many adult children of widows, I’ve spent more years living without my father than I’ve lived with him. While decades have passed, I’ve learned that there is no finish line for grief. Instead, I’ve learned to cope with this enormous loss. At times, like my graduate school graduation and milestone birthdays, my father’s absence was deeply painful.

I can still recall being in Kindergarten and even though Father’s Day was not part of the actual school year, we were still asked to draw pictures of our dads.

I froze.

The male student next to me took to the task with little thought, and started drawing his father. I just sat there. I thought about a photograph that I had of my dad and briefly tried to replicate it. Then, I was confused. The photograph was in black and white. My kindergarten mind wasn’t sure what to do. Do I make up the color of the sport coat and tie my dad was wearing? The teacher noticed I was just sitting there unsure of what to do. She walked over to me, knelt down and in a very loving maternal tone said, “You can draw your grandpa or uncle.” I don’t think I verbally replied. I couldn’t think. Opting out of this assignment didn’t seem to be an option. I’m fairly certain that I was the only child in my class who had a deceased father. Both of my grandfathers were alive, but drawing them wasn’t the same.

My father died from cancer when he was thirty. I never saw him walk because he was confined to a wheelchair. The cancer had done that much damage. I know about my father through others, primarily my late maternal grandmother and my paternal uncles. It is a strange experience to learn about your father through the lens of others. Once, my paternal grandma said my father had a wool red coat and loved it. Coincidentally, I also had a red winter coat, and decided to wear it whenever the weather permitted. I felt close to my father in this small way. I spent most of my twenties getting to know my father through my grandmother. I clung to every story she shared. I wish I had recorded all of these conversations.

This Father’s Day, I encourage you to reach out to a child who won’t be spending Father’s Day with their father. Even if a child doesn’t articulate their father’s death as you may think they would, I’m here to tell you that this is a significant loss. It is a magnificent void that no one can fill. However, you can ease the pain of this void by being completely present with a child on this day. If you can’t think of anything to say, it is enough to offer these thoughts, “I’m sorry that your father isn’t here with you, but I want you to know that he would be very proud of you.” Someone once spoke these words to me on Father’s Day, and it brought me tremendous comfort.

You can also read this article on The Shriver Report.

Kristin on the Dr. Laura Ciel Show

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