The holidays are upon us … and how they churn up our emotions. The expectations …
memories … empty chairs … Somewhere there’s Norman Rockwell family celebrating, but it was never at my house. Was it at yours?A client and I have in common loss of beautiful young men on cusp of adulthood -- my youngest son, who died at 21, 3 years ago; her younger brother, who died at 17, much longer ago than that, and yet it was only yesterday. I share with her my poem saying it is hardest time to lose a child … “and world never knew him at all,” it ends -- and she says she knows what I mean.
My mother used to tell me when I was young and tragedy occurred to others, never to speak of “luck” or “dessert,” but to say, “There but for grace of God, go I,” and my first Thanksgiving after my son’s death, I hoped church-goers would pray for someone who had lacked grace of God.
My client says she is going to have everyone share their gratitude this year and she knows it will be emotional. “There are too many empty chairs,” she says. She lost her older brother as well, and her father.
She says my grief is still “raw,” and she’s right, but hers is too, around Christmas. We agree that all emotions will be welcome at holiday table. We’re working on emotional intelligence together. I’m The EQ Coach.
I tell her that my family is still in early recovery stages – there are conversations my older son and I haven’t had yet about death of his younger brother. She says she knows what I mean. We talk about importance of ‘saying their name’ – names of ones who are dead. I tell her that my grand-daughter speaks Chester’s name all time She asks me at dinner table if Chettie liked yogurt when he was 5. She catches me on patio at night and tells me that Chettie Chettie Bang Bang is dancing with stars.
“I want you to die when you are very, very old, Nana,” she says to me.
“Yes,” I say, with tears in my eyes. “That’s way it’s supposed to be.”
“Your grand-daughter knows,” says my client. We share a silent moment of Empathy.
Some years ago I worked for a church. I ‘worked’ Christmas Eve service. Other services were filled with loudness, but Christmas Eve service is silent. My job was to meet and greet, to ‘be a presence,’ but holy silence at Christmas Eve service was so palpable, so pregnant with meaning, mostly I just stood there. No one was looking for ‘a presence.’ Every person seemed to have a person sitting on either side of them in memory only. Especially old women.
Some of them would hug me with tears in their eyes and say a name … “Paul,” a dead husband … or “Missy”, a lost child … Ghosts from Christmasses past.
Those of us who worked church service held one another together. Meanwhile children ran around screaming, high on sugar and excitement, dressed in their party clothes, sound of their laughter and their bright and noisy dress shoes echoing down halls.
Do you have memories of Christmas like I do?
Kids throwing up, first one in new home, canceled flights, gift that pleased or didn’t, first Christmas as “the mother-in-law,” last one with a loved one, first one with new baby, someone drunk, someone newly married, someone away from home for first time, first Christmas after my divorce, time table caught fire, time everyone got along, time everyone fought, snow, heat wave, beautiful red satin skirt, peace, chaos, curdled crème Anglais, my dad peeling a tangerine, kiss under mistletoe, Hallelujah chorus …
I remember time our kids were with their fathers, hers for first time, and I found my friend crying in church restroom and took her out for dinner, saying, “Come on. I’ll show you how to do this.”
