Turkey, Cornbread Dressing and a Side of Grief

By Yvette R. Blair
This time of year is especially challenging for me. November is the month when my mother was born, it is the month when we shared a holiday meal together for the last time, and it is the month when her health began to decline. Her last November on this side of heaven was in 2013. Though she made it to see April of the following year, the onset of grief started in November when I felt it would be our last Thanksgiving together. 

Grieving the passing of a parent who you love dearly is about the most exhausting pain you can ever imagine experiencing. Last week, I was talking to my best friend and expressing to her the renewed pain of what it means to be at five and a half years without my mom. She would have turned 79 last week, and this week we would have been making cornbread dressing, giblet gravy and sweet potato pies together. But instead, every holiday since 2013 has been with a side order of grief. 

I don't talk about it every day, but it does not mean that the pain is gone. It hits in waves, and around the holidays, that wave hits with a mighty force. Honestly, it is like living a life sentence of pain behind the invisible bars of anguish, and some days you simply don't feel like being perky and "in the moment" as you scramble to figure out all over again how to adjust to life without the person who gave you life. 

What I have come to learn and realize is that sometimes, people are not affected by the thing that pains you the most and therefore, they don't have reason to engage you in conversation about it. My best friend said to me, "...and meanwhile you grieve alone. And it hurts."

Yes, it does.

I don't know if people are afraid to mention your loved one's name, share memories of her, or think that you've "moved on" and would rather not hear his name, but that's not how grief works. The pain volume is not raised at the mention of the person's name. Just because the person is absent physically, it does not mean that the person is absent from your heart. Their absence should not be the reason that their name is absent, that their favorite holiday dish is absent or that a conversation about them is absent. Absence, in this case, does not make the heart grow fonder. 

The heart still grieves. 

Lamenting the "transition" of my mother has been its own intense experience. In the immediate days and weeks after her passing, it was a soul-deep pain that I would not wish upon anyone. In the years that have passed since she passed, it hasn't exactly gotten easier or more bearable. It's that I've been able to manage grief better. 

Here's what I want you, the reader, the friend, the co-worker, the pew seat partner to know: During this time of the year, you will be around people who are grieving the passing of a loved one. Grief hits harder at Thanksgiving and Christmas. It doesn't matter if it was last month, last year or five years ago; the pain is still real. You don't have to walk on eggshells, but at the same time, don't intentionally not make reference, especially if the person grieving is a close friend, long-time acquaintance, relative or co-worker. 

Mom and Me; Circa 2010 at Sunday Worship Celebration 

This is not the time to serve up pre-packaged answers. I know you are well-intentioned, but honestly you have no idea what the grieving person is feeling. Grief is real and it does not come with an expiration date, nor does it come with a set of instructions that you can follow and mark done. Grief is not a cake on display. It is not helpful to say things like, "well, she's out of pain now," or "he would want you to be happy... not sitting around sad," or "it's the holidays - you should find something to take your mind off it." 

Grief is a natural human emotion. Within the human condition, there is a dis-ease in the mind, soul and body called suffering, and that suffering doesn't care if you are in the store, waiting at a red light, or sitting on a pew at church when it decides to hit and redirect your thoughts. That's what suffering is. It is the inability to control the emotional pain that has engulfed you, and yet you have to respond. Sometimes you do so with buckets of tears, other times in silence. 

The apostle Paul tells us in Romans 12 that we are to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep. Remember that we are in community with one another. Be aware of the presence of grief. It is perfectly acceptable to simply ask a person how she or he is handling the holiday. Like my best friend did last week. She initiated the contact on the days leading up to what would have been my mom's 79th birthday. She prayed for me and was present. She left it to me to decide how I wanted to engage; but she made the offer. 

Grief is not like misery - it doesn't want company. Instead, it wants to know that its presence is visible. 

So, in this holiday season, unpack a memory that your friend/co-worker/pew partner has shared about their loved one. Invite her or him out for coffee and give them space to share. And as you are piling your plates with good comfort food, remember to comfort the person whose plate has a side of grief next to the candied yams.  


In peace as we press together,
Rev. Y