Christmas has always been challenging for me, probably because we’re all supposed to be so happy! The holiday spirit is about joy and child-like wonder and no one is allowed to be sad. Sadness equals “Bah Humbug.” So here I was, facing Christmas without Rhia’s magic permeating every decoration and baked good for the first time in her life. My tendency toward melancholy filtered in, no matter what I did to hold it back. I spent too many nights crying on the couch, feeling lonely and lost. F*c*ing Christmas!
As so often happens in my life, friendship helped.
I wasn’t blessed with a big, supportive family; my family is complicated, far flung, and dramatic. And then when Rhia was born, family holidays became even more complicated. Rhia couldn’t participate in most of the events and traditions our family planned and just having a conversation at the dinner table was challenging. Often, she and I sat behind while everyone else went on a Christmas adventure.
Lonliness tripled.
Rhia loved Christmas no matter what, so she and I created our own traditions and kept celebrating like we were children. It’s easy to believe in Santa when Rhia is near. When she left, I was suddenly faced with a Christmas by myself.
However… Solstice came.
On the longest night I was surrounded by friends sharing food, drink, laughter and hope. We gathered around a large flame and burned pieces of paper where we’d written all of our fears. I wrote “Shame. Guilt. Worry. Weight.” I need to let go of the burden of fear I carry when I decided to move Rhia into a group home. Then we all created our own essential oil blends to help us remember what we hoped for as the days grew longer. I breathed in the scent of Pine, Cedarwood, Bergamot and Frankincense that I blended together and then thought “More Joy. More Love” as I dropped an amber bead inside the glass bottle.
On Christmas Eve my friend invited me to their family’s celebration. The house was warm and packed with a boisterous, big-hearted, joyful family that welcomed me with open arms. There was so much love in that house I was astounded! It was all music and mayhem and I loved every single minute of that celebration.
My friend stayed with me on Christmas Morning. We sat in front of the fire and listened to music after we opened gifts. The evening ended with movies and popcorn. Simple. Quiet. Lovely.
Christmas is over. The weight of feeling like I need to be jolly is finally gone. In its place is gratitude. I have been enveloped in love and care from so many people this season. Maybe that’s what Christmas magic actually is. If we force ourselves to be joyful on the holidays when we’re actually grieving, it creates a kind of loneliness that lingers long past the New Year. But if we say out loud what is real, actually say “I am in pain,” it opens our hearts to the possibility of joy. From holding hands with friends around a single flame on a long winter’s night to sitting quietly with a loved one while recovering from a large party with too much food, we can be healed by the people who truly see us.