The Christmas “Elephant”
As I sit down to write, two more Americans will die of the coronavirus every minute that passes.* Last night NBC reported that number doubles to four per minute in LA county as the virus surges. A staggering sobering reality just days before Christmas.
Every minute.
Can we just pause right now in silence for 60 fleeting seconds to honor their lives?
Every single minute families are ripped apart facing unimaginable futures without their loved one. Perhaps you are reading this article because this is your story, your nightmare. One of the earliest definitions of bereavement literally means “to be torn apart.” An apropos description of a journey we all will face someday, but one we cannot fathom.
Christmas 2020 is crushing for families dealing with death loss whether due to Covid-19, or tragic accidents, heart disease, violence, etc. So, should we just skip Christmas altogether? Is there a way to avoid facing the pain of their absence? The empty chair, the empty bed, the empty house, our empty hearts?
It may be hard to imagine seeing family this year without your loved one present. Yet, you may also feel a strong pull to be together — especially as you realize how utterly fragile life is and so unpredictable. Or you may feel you have to keep things as normal as possible . . . for the children. After all, “it’s the most wonderful time of the year.”
For those able to gather safely this Christmas, after the flurry of arrivals, carrying packages and initial greetings, you can’t help but wonder: will anyone bring it up? Of course, no one wants to break the silence or state the obvious. How is it that others are laughing and smiling and seem to be doing so well? All the while, there is also an uninvited guest, one that is palpable and overwhelming — the proverbial “elephant in the room” that everyone is trying to dance around and ignore. No one wants to admit that your loved one is gone and Grief has taken their place this year.
The first Christmas after my Dad died, I tried to “keep it all together” for everyone else’s sake. I set up decorations, made signature goodies, and somehow managed to buy presents. That morning as Christmas songs played in the background, we dumped out our stockings, oohed and aahed and ate candy before breakfast. We leisurely ate our traditional homemade sausage gravy and biscuits and yummy cinnamon rolls. Per tradition, once things were cleaned up, we moved toward gathering around the tree to open presents.
Then it hit. I literally froze halfway between the kitchen and family room. I could not move, barely able to breathe. I wasn’t sure I could do this. How could it be that I felt Dad’s absence so much stronger than the presence of my precious husband and children right here in front of me? (Still 9 years later, tears fill my eyes as I write and my heart beats faster while laying like a brick in my chest.) I just wasn’t ready to dive into presents. I seriously considered retreating to my bedroom to sob. I know my sweet family would have understood. Instead, I chose to acknowledge the “elephant.”
Making my way to the beautiful tree that had “jack-potted” overnight (our daughter’s exclamation), my heart was keenly aware that just beyond all the presents sat Dad’s recliner. . . empty. His absence was larger than life. Very awkwardly and through tears I blurted out, “Before we get started, it’s obvious something is missing this year. Some ONE is missing. It would really help me if we could just take a few minutes and maybe go around and each share a fun memory we have of Grandpa.”
The room exhaled a huge sigh of relief having held its breath far too long. The stories tumbled out about Grandpa’s quips and funny phrases, his southern twang, the harmonica, his willingness to learn new games (though not really understanding the rules), and unwillingness to ever lose in checkers. Of course, a huge highlight was The Year of the Nerf Guns complete with a “dart” suctioned on Grandpa’s reading glasses . . . while still on his face! He was such a good sport. And there was no greater joy than hearing him laugh so hard he could hardly breathe while trying to tell the “sock joke” one more time.
I’m not sure how much time passed sharing stories, but it lightened everyone’s heart just to speak his name. We shared about his life instead of focusing on his death. We felt more whole by including Grandpa that Christmas morning. We acknowledge his presence, forever tucked in our hearts and minds. Yes, he was still with us.
Oh friends, you do not have to suffer in silence this Christmas.
There are many ways to “include” your loved one this year by lighting a candle or making their favorite food, etc. One simple activity I developed is called Treasured Memories. May it help usher your loved one back into your home and your conversations this season.
Treasured Memories
This tool is a non-threatening way of acknowledging the death loss, the “empty chair,” the “elephant in the room” most families or groups do not know how to talk about in our grief-avoidant society.
Treasured Memories ©2018 Hope Rises
Materials needed:
· treasure box (or any special container)
· card stock paper (2-3” squares – three or four squares per person)
· pens/pencils
Simple Instructions:
1. Introduce the activity. For example, “This is our first holiday (anniversary, etc.) since (name) died and it feels so different. I know we all have a lot of memories of him/her. I would like to do something together that will allow us to share some of those memories. Please know that you are free to participate or not participate and whatever you feel comfortable doing is totally fine. On each slip of paper (3-5 per person), just write down one word or phrase of a meaningful character quality or even a funny little quirk you think of when you think of (name).” (hand out cards and pens and allow time for everyone to think and write)
2. Pass the treasure chest around to collect the cards.
3. Share stories. Explain, “We will draw the cards out one at a time. Whoever wrote that word then gets to share a brief memory of (name) that relates to that word/phrase and tell why that memory is meaningful to you. Again, feel free to “pass” if you don’t feel comfortable sharing right now.”
Telling stories of our deceased loved one helps us grasp more deeply the reality that though they are no longer with us physically, we are still impacted by them. We are sweetly connected as they “live on” through us and the treasured memories we want to keep. You have the right to remember your loved one. You do not have to leave him/her behind. Life may end, but not the relationship. (My Daddy will always be my Daddy.) Honoring your loved one this way helps you integrate what was with what is and paves the way for what is possible.
The human heart is truly amazing in that it can hold such deep, deep sorrow beside such sweet joy. It is possible to be sad and happy simultaneously. My friend Alan Wolfelt would describe that as being “sappy.”
I hope you will share Treasured Memories either in person or on Zoom calls this holiday season. May the stories fill your hearts with sweet joy and a deep knowing that your loved one is near. You have the right and permission to speak his name. Speak her name. Share memories of their beautiful life as you also mourn their death and absence. It is a sacred journey you are on. Be gentle with yourself — for you have suffered great loss.
I’ll be thinking of you Christmas morning as you “include” your precious loved ones.
Tenderly,
Dana Russo
*https://www.miamiherald.com/news/coronavirus/article247846630.html
Dana Russo is the founder of HOPE RISES, a practice offering grief care and mental health counseling. She holds two certifications in death and grief studies and is a trained Spiritual Director. Her most profound teachers remain the bereaved and those they love. www.hope-rises.com