The Ghost of Christmas Past

Here it is a few days before Christmas and I am experiencing some holiday sadness. As a psychologist I am familiar with the topsy-turvy feelings that can arise around the holidays. I have helped many grieving families cope with the loss of loved ones and navigate through the sadness and loneliness that can surface during significant holidays. As a coach, I have helped clients set their sights on what they want to overcome and achieve, whether that be moving closer toward balance in their lives following divorce or expanding their social life following the death of a spouse.

As a sister, today was my day to navigate through those rocky and ragged waves of grief and loss. As you have come to know me through my previous posts, I am usually a pretty upbeat and optimistic individual. But even positive folks get the blues once in a while. Not to bring you down, but I am writing about this in order to process what is going on for me as well as to let others who may be experiencing similar feelings during this holiday time know that you are not alone.

The thing about grief is it hits you when you are least expecting it--here I am, crusing along through life, getting on with things and moving forward, when BAM! a scene, a scent, or a resemblance to a loved one, knocks me off balance and I am skittering and sliding back into that lonely and dark place of sadness and old memories.

The holidays create the space for joy and excitement to blossom, but also allow melancholy to sidle on up to the bar as well. Over the past several years my husband and I have, along with our fellow baby boomers, become adult orphans--first my father in December 1997, my husband's father the following month, then my mother in the Spring of 1998.

Sixteen months ago, my oldest half-brother, Dwight, abruptly took his own life with a handgun at 61. He was not a person known for depression, but personal circumstances related to a bitter divorce and a profound sense of betrayal apparently exacerbated his own feelings of loss to the point that he no longer wanted to live to see the next day. My family was left shaken and stunned.

The last time I saw Dwight was Christmas 2003. We gathered at my other half-brother, Tom's, farm--my imediate family, along with my cousin, Lindsay, from NYC. My brothers and I were happy to be together as this was the first time we had been together for Christmas since I was a 6 year old child. We spent time telling stories and reminiscing about our parents. We posed for family snapshots. We caught up on the events in each others' lives and relished in just being together once again. We cried and laughed, hugged and shared. For me, it was the Christmas I had dreamed about as a young child--I was a little sister, even if I was 43 at the time, surrounded by my big brothers. I soaked up their attention and brotherly presence like a thirsty sponge. We promised that this would be the beginning of more holiday gatherings.

Following his divorce a year earlier, Dwight had moved to Florida to be near Tom and his family. He appeared to be moving forward on his own voyage toward discovery of a new life. We all were enjoying renewing our relationships with each other--he spent a great deal of time with his grown nieces and he became closer with his brother and sister-in-law. Dwight and I spoke on the phone more during that year than we had in all the previous years combined. He established friendships in his new environment. He met a kind woman and fell in love. When he took his life so suddenly later that summer, we were shocked to our core.

Over the course of the next 16 months, my surviving family has spent time talking, analyzing, second-guessing, reviewing and grieving over his suicide. We have experienced the roller coaster ride of emotions associated with suicide: loss, sorrow, anger, betrayal, guilt and bewilderment. We are now members of the, never-want-to-wish-it-on-anyone, group of survivor families of suicide victims.

A few days from now my family and I are heading back to Florida to spend Christmas with my brother and his family. This will be the first time we have been back since that Christmas two years ago. Over the past couple of weeks, my jittery emotions have been sending signals to my unwilling consciousness--a bit more anxiety, a bit more difficulty with sleep, a bit more unwillingness to just sit still and let the quiet overtake me.

Until today I had not allowed the feelings to break through to the surface. Today I allowed them to bubble and ooze into my day. Today I cried for my mom. Today I cried for my dad. Today I cried for my brother. I let the raw grief reopen my heart. Today I honored the memory of my family now gone.

Tonight as I write this, I feel better--I am no longer trying to distract my heart with busy-work. I allowed the aching, wrenching feelings to flow over and pass through me. That is the other thing about grief--it needs to be expressed and acknowledged for what it is in order for it to pass on it's way to wherever grief goes to await it's next, unexpected, curtain call.

In a few days I will likely cry again as my brother's family, my cousin, and my immediate family reunite on the farm. Christmas will be a bittersweet day with more stories, hugs, laughter and tears. Even so, I am thankful for the opportunity to be with my loved ones and I will cherish the memories that will come from the visit.

I hear a voice come on the wind saying you and I will meet again.
I don't know how, I don't know when but you and I will meet again. --Tom Petty