Heart Holding

Hello and welcome to a pretty brown Saturday before Christmas Eve here at the Wannaskan Almanac. Today is December 23rd.

I came into this holiday season with an exceptional abundance of joy that outweighed the usual sack of dread I carry with me during this time of year. I started the month with the premise that, because I was feeling so good coming down the pike of 2023, I could offer you all a heaping plate of Christmas-themed positive energy cookies with steaming mugs of sweet space holding (with marshmallows) for all who may not be feeling as joyful as I have. 

This month on the Wannaskan Almanac, I took some time to pause and sit with the lesser-embraced emotions the season brings. We kicked off December with the messy tangles of the Yarn of Disappointment, poked a little fun at strapping in for the holidays while feeling Frazzled Like a Frazzled Thing, and, last week, pulled out the 'ole cast iron pan for Cooking a la Anger. 

I've always thought that naming emotions creates energy to process what I'm experiencing so I can understand them and move forward. An unexpected outcome from writing this series, for me personally, has been journeying through Advent pretty even-keeled. Other than one unpleasant outburst of unkind words regarding moving one of my husband's ping pong tables into the house and completely rearranging our guest room/my office into - I'm not sure what to call it...ping pong/guest room? I will keep you posted - it's been a pretty emotionally mild season.

What I also recognized is that humor is my comfort zone. Funny has been my lane, coping strategy, and shield around my heart to protect myself from the final lesser-embraced emotion of the season that my happy side really doesn't want to talk about: grief.

Some years, the holidays feel like a probing, accusatory flashlight beam shining on what's not great with me physically, mentally or emotionally. If I haven't been exercising, I really turn into a couch potato. If I'm stressed, I begin Christmas baking on Thanksgiving and nibble the gingerbread boys and girls like daily Advent calendar treats. And if I'm feeling sad? I swallow and stuff it down, then plaster on a smile. But, inevitably, that burgeoning ballon of grief steadily inflating in my chest bursts and releases at least one good cry a season.

Sadness, whether I want it or not, is part of the season, too. And this sadness is linked to grief.

I have felt grief for many things. Sometimes I feel grief for dreams unfulfilled, lost, or abandoned, whether that be for material things, goals, or relationships I wish were better. Even as an adult with my own family, I'm surprised by old feelings of grief for my family of origin - father, mother, brother, me - and the ending of a wish for Christmas gatherings of the Norman Rockwell kind.

I have felt grief brought on by the physical distance from family - that we can't be with everyone during the holiday, including our Czech family so far away. 

One Christmas while opening presents with our own children, I noticed grief for someone missing. I kept counting the number of us present - one, two, three, four, five, six, seven - and feeling like there should be an eighth. Who was absent? The child we miscarried? A deceased loved one? The "year of firsts" after losing a loved one has been especially painful and sad. That presence of absence feels very physical - skin tingling, heart swelling, chest tightening, tears at the ready - it's just too sad to think about. And yet. Holding the space is also a gift. I envision invisible angels holding spaces of memory and love.

This year, I feel so much love - an all-encompassing love - not only for my family, but for my greater community, and for you. This love extends greatly, vastly, and so far beyond my body, it expands and reaches out to the heavens. I feel that flood of love for everyone - earthly and not - as the waters rise and arc, curving into a wave of missing, then a wave of wishing, then a wave of sadness, then another wave of loving, missing, wishing, and sadness, with intermittent white caps of hope and promise that all will be well. This is the tide of human experience.

This season I offer you all of my heart. Feel disappointed. Feel anxious, Feel angry. Feel grief. Cry. 

Then feel the love. I'll be holding your heart as tenderly as Bing Crosby sings White Christmas:

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

Just like the ones I used to know

Where the treetops glisten and children listen

To hear sleigh bells in the snow.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

With every Christmas card I write

"May your days be merry and bright

And may all your Christmases be white."