Endless Tears

My husband and I are on our way to the north Georgia mountains to spend yet another gorgeous fall weekend with some dear friends. As my husband took a call from a fellow racer, I gazed off at the exquisite color of the leaves. Something along the side of the road caught my eye. It was a roadside memorial. Someone had taken their last breath at that very spot. A chill ran down my spine.

It was a cross made of red and white flowers, faded and graying. An immense sadness gripped me, thinking not only of the woman (judging from the color of the flowers) who had died there, but for the family and friends who had erected that small, poignant reminder of their lost loved one.

Whether she was young or old I'll never know. But somehow I imagined her to be in her early thirties. I imagined her mother, howling in anguish upon learning of the death of her daughter. I knew for a certainty that her life was forever changed in that moment. A mother myself, I can't fathom how she could continue another day without her beloved child.

We use the word "closure" so freely and so reassuringly in this culture. But closure is a lie. There is no such thing. Yes, as people like to remind us, life does go on, after a fashion. But it is never, ever the same. Emotional scar tissue begins to form around that raw, gaping wound. But the scar lives on, and often it aches like hell.

I couldn't stop imagining this woman's life after the loss of her daughter. Was she physically unable to get out of bed for days, weeks, even months? Did she lose her appetite and begin to wither away? Did she withdraw into the privacy of her home, away from the well-meaning, but painful, questions of friends and family?

How long was it before she felt she could begin to breathe again, to look around and see some small spot of beauty or comfort in the world? How long before that wracking, searing pain began to recede ever so slowly and she had a day here and there that, to the outside world, looked "normal"? For, mercifully, just as the flowers on the roadside cross have faded in the baking sun of the Georgia summer and the cold gray drizzle of winter, her unrelenting pain, though never absent, will also begin to fade.

The Holidays: Blessing or Curse?

It's that glorious time of year again. The heat of summer has abated (this was Georgia's hottest summer on record), and the light is changing along with the leaves. The calendar's pace seems to accelerate, each day passing faster and faster. As I schedule time with clients, family, and friends, the amount of available time seems to mysteriously dwindle.

Not that many years ago, when my children returned to school the middle of each August, a sort of mad rush toward the holidays would begin. With my girls gone during much of the day, I began planning Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations. I began compiling gift lists based on hints dropped here and there, as well as observation of what my daughters seemed most interested in at the time, along with gift ideas that I thought would surprise, fascinate, inspire, or guide them. I planned elaborate menus for family dinners and dinner parties for sixty!

My elder daughter was home sick one day early in the school year. Over a lunch of chicken noodle soup and crackers, the subject of Christmas came up. We played a Windham Hill holiday CD as we chatted. One of the tracks had a rather Mexican flair, and we began imagining what a Mexican Christmas party would look like. We brainstormed about menus, decorations, and music. We were off and running with the idea.

My daughter was well enough for school the next day, but I kept returning to our lunchtime conversation. I decided to turn that vision of a Mexican Christmas party into a holiday reality. Over the next couple of months, I made hundreds of tissue paper flowers and yarn ojos de dios ("eye of God") to decorate Christmas trees and grace earthenware pots filled with tiny twinkling lights. I bought small chimineas and Mexican crèches. I purchased all sorts of linens in various shades of red and green, as well as vast quantities of votives and other types of candles. In other words, I transformed my home into a cozy suburban Mexican restaurant. We planned the musical selections and an extensive menu. We made nametags and ensured that everyone on the guest list would know at least one other person.

The evening went off without a hitch, everything as planned, and people thoroughly enjoyed themselves and the somewhat unconventional Christmas celebration. Our months of preparation paid off beautifully. As a result, I felt emboldened to plan other large-scale events and throw myself into months of cooking and decorating. These events were a labor of love for me, but eventually the "labor" part of the process came to loom large. While my children enjoyed the end products of my labors, I wasn't so sure about my then husband. His actions made it clear that he resented getting pulled into the process. I couldn't really blame him. After all, these shindigs were my idea and I didn't consult him about them, other than to check to see if he'd be in town that evening.

Years later, after my children were grown and had left the home and I had relocated to Georgia to start a new life, time didn't permit me to plan and host these events. After all, I was either teaching or seeing clients. And space was a factor, as well. I had downsized my home and was operating in a much smaller kitchen. I found myself going through a period of mourning my bygone entertaining diva days. I even felt guilty that I had done it for my family before, but wasn't able to do it for my beloved new husband. Frankly, he was probably relieved, knowing that I'd be preoccupied with my preparations and in a state of high anxiety.

I went through a few transitional years during which I did feel guilty about not serving up entirely homemade dishes at Thanksgiving and Christmas. I began purchasing pre-packaged holiday meals at my local grocery. To my surprise, they often rivaled my own recipes. They weren't inexpensive, but the really lovely part of finally giving myself permission to go this route was that it freed up several days before each holiday to spend with my husband and with visiting friends and relatives. This became a gift I gave to myself and them, the gift of time and loving attention.

As you prepare for your holidays this year--whatever you celebrate--perhaps a few moments of reflection on what you truly value for yourself and your family are in order. Are the holidays a time of anxiety and stress over all you need to get done, or are they occasions for reconnecting with loved ones and sharing yourself generously with them? As we approach these sacred times this year, I wish you the joys of togetherness and contentment with the blessings in your life.