23 December 2007
missing people at the holidays
The holidays can be very challenging for people with depression or dysthymia. Even if we're under successful treatment for our illness, the holidays can bring up sad feelings and memories. Sometimes it's the good memories that make us sad.
If you've read much of my writing on this site, you'll know that I lost my mom to lung cancer when I was 10 years old. My life has been a journey of living with that fact. It's not in my consciousness at every moment; but it's a part of who I am.
At Christmastime I often have little flashbacks. They're very happy memories. My mom was very creative and had made a papier-mâché Nativity scene that she set up on the mantle piece above the fireplace every year. I can picture it perfectly. The mantle ran the length of the wall and there was a huge mirror over it. My mom would cover the mirror in red and green cellophane and set the Nativity scene in front of it. Perhaps the living room seemed extra Christmas-y because it had red carpeting; with the Nativity set and the tree surrounded by bright packages, it was a big box of Christmas.
It's a happy memory. I remember helping my mom make marzipan fruit and vegetables. I can remember the smell of the artificial hair on the new dolls I'd get as gifts. I remember the excitement. The intense heat from the lights my dad used when he'd take home movies. The music. The family. It's a part of my life that I can hold onto only in memories. Sometimes the vividness of those memories is so intense that I can nearly touch them and taste them.
It makes me sad. The sadness is not so much for me, but for my mom. She was only 38 years old when she died, six years younger than I am now. She never got to see her children grow up and have children of their own. I'm sad for my nieces and nephews, too, who never got to meet their grandmother.
What does one do with this sadness? I let myself feel it. If I try to stifle it, it only seeps up again when I'm trying to enjoy today. I set aside some time for memories and tears. I honor my mom and all the other family members who are gone because they will always be with me. I can't deny them or ignore them.
Somehow, this helps. Giving the dead their due, their time, my attention, lets me then concentrate on the living. A cleansing cry releases the sadness. Not that it doesn't resurface here and there over the course of the holidays, but it's usually less powerful after I've let it go.
I hope you all find a way to release some sadness for your losses and that doing so helps to make your day a little bit brighter.
Be good to yourself.
--Mary
If you've read much of my writing on this site, you'll know that I lost my mom to lung cancer when I was 10 years old. My life has been a journey of living with that fact. It's not in my consciousness at every moment; but it's a part of who I am.
At Christmastime I often have little flashbacks. They're very happy memories. My mom was very creative and had made a papier-mâché Nativity scene that she set up on the mantle piece above the fireplace every year. I can picture it perfectly. The mantle ran the length of the wall and there was a huge mirror over it. My mom would cover the mirror in red and green cellophane and set the Nativity scene in front of it. Perhaps the living room seemed extra Christmas-y because it had red carpeting; with the Nativity set and the tree surrounded by bright packages, it was a big box of Christmas.
It's a happy memory. I remember helping my mom make marzipan fruit and vegetables. I can remember the smell of the artificial hair on the new dolls I'd get as gifts. I remember the excitement. The intense heat from the lights my dad used when he'd take home movies. The music. The family. It's a part of my life that I can hold onto only in memories. Sometimes the vividness of those memories is so intense that I can nearly touch them and taste them.
It makes me sad. The sadness is not so much for me, but for my mom. She was only 38 years old when she died, six years younger than I am now. She never got to see her children grow up and have children of their own. I'm sad for my nieces and nephews, too, who never got to meet their grandmother.
What does one do with this sadness? I let myself feel it. If I try to stifle it, it only seeps up again when I'm trying to enjoy today. I set aside some time for memories and tears. I honor my mom and all the other family members who are gone because they will always be with me. I can't deny them or ignore them.
Somehow, this helps. Giving the dead their due, their time, my attention, lets me then concentrate on the living. A cleansing cry releases the sadness. Not that it doesn't resurface here and there over the course of the holidays, but it's usually less powerful after I've let it go.
I hope you all find a way to release some sadness for your losses and that doing so helps to make your day a little bit brighter.
Be good to yourself.
--Mary
Labels: death of a loved one, grief, holiday blues, sadness
