The grief journey forces us to experience everything for the first time all over again. It becomes a series of firsts. The first time you laugh again when you really thought you never would feel like laughing again. The first time you ventured out in public and thought the whole world was watching you and probably pointing you out to total strangers. It felt like the pity was flowing knee deep and you began to realize there is a vast difference between pity and sympathy. Discovering that is another first.

The list goes on and on and includes the first birthday following the death, the first wedding anniversary, the first anniversary of the death is at least a thirty day ordeal. We start dreading the day at least a month in advance and grow more restive and sad as each day draws us nearer and nearer. Sometimes the anticipation of the day is worse than the day itself.

And then comes the holidays. How could a day that once brought so much joy, now bring so much sorrow? How could a day we once looked forward to now be faced with so much dread? The simple answer is the bottom line of grief is that our loved one is not here, families gathering to follow their traditions makes it even more evident that your loved one is missing and no longer here. The absence can become so pervasive it seems to fill the room. Even then it sometimes seems like you are the only one to notice 

The holidays can create inner conflicts. Too often the rest of the family seems anxious for things to get back to "normal", and you seem to be the only one who realizes there will never again be a "normal". Nothing will ever be the same again, and yet it can seem like everyone is going on as if nothing has happened and your pain and your loved one becomes the Elephant in the room everyone refuses to notice. These blogs often talk about the need to establish the significance of our pain and the significance of the person who has died. Far too often all of this seems lost when the family seeks to have the same kind of holiday experience as always. On the one hand you may not want to be a wet blanket to their joy, while on the other hand, you really need someone to realize what is happening inside of you.

If I could give you one gift this holiday season I would give you:

PERMISSION

I would give you permission to insist that your loved one be remembered. Watching the family gather and feeling like no one is remembering or thinking about your loved one is agony. We just had our family Thanksgiving. Two of our normal participants have died in the last year. Before we served the meal, we lit candles for them and talked about the fact that they were with us and not forgotten on that day. That simple act got the name and the memories in the room and opened the door for all of us to talk openly about these loved ones. I have a friend who bought a very unusual and beautiful candle to use during these times in memory of her daughter. Bringing out this candle each time has become a tradition with great meaning. More important, to the mother, it feels like her daughter is with them.

I would give you permission to change traditions. The family traditions must change. If you always hung stockings what do you do this year? Hang them and act like nothing has happened? Hang all but one and leave a glaring hole in that space? The rest of the family may not understand, but the holiday experience cannot be like it always has been. Maybe adding the candle lighting can be a start toward a new tradition.

I would give you permission to set your own limits. Do only what you feel like doing. If you always cooked the meal for the celebration, cook only as much or as little as you feel up to doing and want to do. Remember, grief saps more than half of your energy and all of your emotions, so you are not going to be able to do as much as you once did or as much as you will do in the future. 

I would give you permission to do all of this without guilt or shame. If your leg was broken, you could limit your activities with ease. If your head hurt you could plead out of involvement and not feel shame. Why then do we pressure ourselves when our hearts are broken and our emotions are raging? Play like your leg is broken and take the day off. 

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Doug invites you to log in and post comments at the end of each blog entry. He looks forward to hearing from you. Any of Doug's books, CDs or DVDs are available at www.InSightBooks.com.