Thinking Out LoudThe year my brother Adam died, my dad tried to take my photo at a Christmas family event. I said, “I can’t smile”. He said that was ok.
On December 9, 1996, Adam died of meningococcal meningitis. He was dead within about 48 hours.
Adam was tall and had a wry sense of humour. He had unusually light blue eyes and wiry copper hair that wouldn’t lie straight. He was studying arts/law. He rock-climbed and made his own leather armour with his medieval nerd friends. He was kind and cried easily.
His death meant I hated Christmas for years. Even when my kids were born and took a natural pleasure in Christmas, I had to swallow my grief.
The expectation at Christmas to attend various family events, wrap presents, and plan over-the-top catering seemed hollow and pointless to me. Even now, I resist overly busy or complicated Christmas meals, presents, and rituals.
A few years back, I became obsessed with a musical dramedy show called Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. In the first season, the protagonist visits her home synagogue and imagines a musical number that captures how, in the Jewish experience, fasts and grieving are remembered amidst holidays and festivals.
“Now it’s time to celebrate, grab a drink and fix a plate, but before you feel too great, remember that we suffered”.
This cynical but practical approach to gathering made me smile. There’s a built-in moment of grief before the dancing, singing, and merry making.
In ads, Christmas is curated and artificially joyful. It’s tempting to just go along with the season and block out the suffering. But there’s a grounding humanity in grief, tears, and remembering. If you need permission to grieve this Christmas, you have it.