Loss takes
many forms--the loss of a job, the loss of health, the loss of a loved one.
Every year, we are reminded that the holidays magnify loss. Yet as we approach
the holiday season, much as we’d like to provide support, many of us wrestle
with how to reach out to a grieving friend or family member.
We imagine
that by acknowledging their pain, we'll somehow reopen the wound or destroy a
mourner's fragile peace. We're afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing, or
worse yet, being rebuffed for our efforts.
It's not as
difficult as it seems to provide support to someone who is suffering. All it
takes is the willingness to put ourselves in their shoes. Thoughtful
consideration of how we would want to be treated if we were in their position
enables us to plan a course of action.
If I were
living with chronic, life-altering illness or injury, would I feel up to
steaming full speed ahead into the usual hustle and bustle of the holidays? How
would I reconcile my inability to muster energy or strength with the fuss of
holiday cooking, baking, and decking the halls?
If I were undergoing
medical treatments that left me nauseous and fatigued—if strong smells made me
gag and naps were not a luxury, but a necessity—would I be up to traveling to
and partaking in the traditional holiday feasts?
If my
economic status was compromised, would I want to participate in family gift
exchanges with specified expenditures? How would my limited purchasing power
impact my level of festivity?
If I'd
buried a child or struggled with infertility, how would I endure child-centered
family celebrations? What would it feel like to be the elephant in a roomful of
relatives blathering on in their annual brag-fest about their offspring?
If I were
newly widowed, would I want to be excluded from the New Year's Eve party my
spouse and I had always attended with our coupled friends? Or would I rather be
invited, knowing that if I chose to decline, my friends would understand?
It's so easy
to get bogged down in rigid expectations for the holidays. Our desire to adhere
to tradition can place an undue burden on those who grieve the loss of someone
or something important to them.
The greatest
gift we can give to those who mourn is empathy. We can ask them how they're
doing, and pause long enough to actually listen to the answer. Instead of
responding with pious platitudes, we can validate their very real feelings.
If someone
is sick or struggling with sorrow, we can honor their experience. We can
recognize the limits of their capacity to cope with crowds and holiday stress,
and accept what they’re able to give us as the best they have to offer, without
judgment or recrimination.
We can
notice when they've hit their limit at family gatherings, and provide them with
an escape route. We can offer a hug, or invite them on a long walk, or provide quiet
space for a snooze. We can tolerate even repeated rejection of our invitations
without taking it personally.
We can ask
if they'd like us to help with the cooking or wrap some of the presents, or in
a radical show of solidarity, suggest that this year we scrap all of the
trimmings and trappings and do something that's completely outside of our
holiday box, like take-out Chinese and a late-night drive through an over-lit
neighborhood.
Kindness and
compassion are always in fashion. A little empathy goes a long way toward
making the season brighter, or at least a bit easier to bear.