Holiday Grief Tastes Like Over-baked Fruitcake

And pithy Christmas lyrics make it worse.

You know how there always seems to be ONE person who really loves fruitcake? That insistent acquaintance is semi-charmingly astounded that you reject it, convinced if you’d only give their bubbie’s recipe a chance, you’d change your mind.

That’s how it feels to be one grieving during the holiday season. At least one person has an idea or better opinion of how you can resolve your sorrows and revel in the romance of winter. I genuinely love the holidays, but in the last few years, I am becoming increasingly aware of both my privilege to celebrate and the compression of my pain during this season as well. Somewhere between trying to separate the marketing and intense merrymaking from the hope-filled peaceful promise of Advent, the grievances are squashed back with no chance to breathe.

Platitudes of Christmas

Sometimes I wish I cared more about decorating for the season. I have the same decor pieces since the first Christmas we were married; a vision of copper, silver, and green decor that whispers of quiet forests and rivers frozen over. It feels like peace to me.

But how can you be satisfied with simplicity when “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year” is literally defined by extravagant decor and everyone extolling you to be of good cheer? What if a simple tree is all you can muster? What if even that asks too much?

A few years ago, I opted to skip decorating for Christmas. The pain of all the triggered emotions both during setup, breakdown, cleaning, and knowing who wouldn’t be present to celebrate did nothing to offer peace. Just the thought of Christmasy expectations to “Deck The Halls” stole what little stillness I found in the waiting of Advent.

And that’s just Christmas. Last year, I taught our daughter, nieces, and nephews how to light the menorah. The richness of the story, the connectedness to my extended family, and the beauty of God’s miracle for the Maccabees brings me so much gratitude and expectation. Yet even the thought of searching for the candles and wrapping small gifts has me all verklempt. Maybe I should just buy a fruitcake and wrap it into 8 pieces this year.

Finding Peace In Advent

I wish I could say I look forward to the season to waiting each year, and even in the heaviness I find positives to enjoy. I love to create new traditions for the sake of growth and remembrance. But with each moment of celebration, the embedded grief in my story sneaks onto the back porch of my life, waiting to be let in from the cold. I recognize how my unmet expectations of life are met with disappointment and lack. Maybe a person is absent from the story. Maybe I’m not able to be with living people I love. Or maybe I just can’t participate in the holidays as I hoped, too focused on basic principles like food and housing over extravagant gifts. No matter the circumstances, I am unable to engage the holidays without recognizing the insistent reminders of lack and loss.

And yet in this place of loss, I am trying to find peace. As Advent approaches, I remind myself to slow down and reject the hustle. The hurry of the holidays is too much for any woman to really manage, let alone one whose husband works in marketing for a holiday retail giant. But to slow is a double-edged sword, for it is in the slowing that my grief surfaces. As I shorten my holiday bucket list (so trendy), the slow points to the Christmas parties we won’t attend, the travel we won’t take. It triggers that lustful desire for more gifts beneath the tree in some antithetical demonstration of the gospel gift of healing.

Maybe I’m just overthinking everything. But if I am, then why do I get the sense that no matter the merry, I am not alone in the struggle to celebrate? How can we find peace in the simple waiting of Advent, even in the presence of grief?

The Nuance of the Gifts

Have you even considered why the three wise men brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh to a baby? Yes, they had visions that this baby was much more than an outward appearance suggested, but still — what was the intention?

Frankincense is a purifier. Myrrh brings relief. And gold is so much more than riches.

What if my intention in Advent and celebration of the season focused on the three gifts of the Magi? Holding space for that which brings relief, purification, and richness over the traditional holiday pressures may bring exactly the resurrection of hope we all want to spread during the season. Maybe merry doesn’t need cookies iced or chestnuts roasted. Maybe merry just needs some space to be honest and still. Maybe then, once even grief regains it’s breath, we can all exhale with expectation of the promise of His coming. Especially since we know He won’t be selling fruitcake on His way.