Grief and Thanksgiving

“I don’t like the holidays and I don’t like Thanksgiving,” I said, with tears pouring down my cheeks the other morning. Calvin wrapped his arms around me and assured me it was okay.

The thing is - it doesn’t feel okay to feel this way. This is something I’ve been wrestling with in counseling. My counselor challenges me to not avoid the feeling, but to dig deeper. You see, our feelings are often masking a secondary emotion - something that stems much deeper. To get to the root, we’ve gotta be really honest. For example, it’s easier to express anger than to express fear. It’s easier to to express sadness than hurt.

We’ve also been discussing shame. Most of us have shame scripts that play in our heads. Our shame can be so deep rooted that we feel guilty for even feeling.

I know truth. I remind myself over and over, “rejoice always,” “give thanks in all circumstances,” and I know I have thousands of things to be thankful for. And I am.

And, I also feel pain.

Both are okay. There doesn’t have to be guilt or shame.

I think back on past Thanksgivings. From the outside, life looked okay - picture perfect even. But it wasn’t. I felt like I was dying on the inside and as though I was living a lie. Life felt like a prison that I couldn’t and didn’t know how to escape. And yet we dressed up and gathered around in a circle every year, each one taking a turn to say what they were thankful for. Waiting for my turn in the 40 person circle felt impossible. I’m pretty sure every year I said my kids - or that’s all I wanted to say. I probably said my family because I felt like I had to include everyone - even the one who was continually hurting me.

I felt more alone on holidays. The emptiness somehow intensified. Scrolling though my social media feeds made it even worse, seeing everyone else’s “perfect” families and “perfect” Thanksgivings. Holidays seemed to bring out the worst in him too - perhaps because he felt empty as well, living in the illusion. Some of my worst memories stem from these days, in the after hours of the family events. It was so dark.

So as I think on it, it makes sense why I feel that feeling of dread every year when it gets closer.

And then - one year - it was different. But it was hard on a completely new and different level.

I’ll never forget that first Thanksgiving after. Our circle of 40 dwindled down to 7. My mom went to Texas to spend time with my brother, so it was just the kids, my dad, and me. We had just moved to a new home and we sat around our new table, exhausted. In every way. I remember crawling into bed that night sobbing.

It still felt empty. The grief was excruciating. My kids were crushed. Heart-broken. Their whole world had collapsed and no matter how much I longed to make it better for them, I simply couldn’t fix it. So, I embraced the pain and did my best to walk alongside them in it. And still.

As the holidays approach, I sense their dread too. They’d rather just skip it altogether. Where most kids are happy to have a break, mine would rather be in school. They miss their traditions. Their memories pain them. People suggest we make new memories. We try, and we do. And yet their pain lingers. As challenging as it is for me, an adult, to process and deal with - they’re kids - still walking in intense grief that they cannot fully comprehend.

I say all of this to say that holidays are hard for so many. Grief, whether fresh or years deep, comes in waves. It can hit suddenly or not so suddenly. Holidays tend to intensify it.

Whether it’s your first or twentieth year without a loved one, you’re away from your family, you’re going through a divorce, your memories trigger you, your children are in pain, or things just aren’t as you expected - it’s okay to feel that. To acknowledge it and put a name to your sadness.

You can feel pain - anguish even - and still be thankful.

I was looking up the Biblical definition of thankfulness and loved this - It’s “acknowledging what is right about God in praise and thanksgiving.”

Sometimes that’s the only thing I have to hold onto. My God is good. My God never leaves or forsakes me. My God didn’t cause suffering or death or pain, but comforts us in it because He is the God of all comfort. And one day, my God will wipe away every tear. I believe it with every fiber of my being. In Him, I have hope. That’s another thing my counselor and I discussed just this week. Sometimes our hope is on the other side. Nevertheless he encouraged me, “but I think there is a one day for you… on this side.”

So what are we doing for Thanksgiving as many have asked? We will eat turkey. We will say what we are thankful for. We will praise God. We may shed a tear or two. I hope we will laugh. We will acknowledge both the good and the hard, because both are real. Both are true.

“Oh give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; for His steadfast love endures forever!”

*This was our first Thanksgiving, just us.