Grieving with Grace Griswold-Style
It’s official. The holidays are in full swing. There are festive gatherings and events galore. Amazon packages pile up at the door, last-minute gifts wait to be wrapped, peanut butter blossoms bake in the oven and “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” (our family’s favorite) plays on repeat.
This is just a snapshot of the “hustle and bustle” happening in my world; and, I’m sure, in many others’ lives right now too. On the surface, it might look like everything is rolling along as usual. But honestly, the holidays make the struggle hit even harder.
As someone spending my third Christmas without my mom, my second without my husband and my first without my grandma, I can say with confidence that this time of year presents grieving hearts with a fresh layer of ache. Traditions have been altered or discontinued altogether; and, for me, the daily absence of my partner makes tackling the holiday madness feel heavier.
That’s where the title of this piece—and the name of my blog—comes in. It’s a line Matt used to toss out whenever things got hectic, a simple phrase that helped us laugh our way through the mayhem. Turns out, he was quoting Clark Griswold all along! Even now, that little bit of borrowed humor nudges me to find some lightness in the chaos and keep my spirits up, especially as I stumble through the bittersweet holiday season.
Despite all the upheaval of the past few years, I’m doing my best to show up. My house has been decorated since Thanksgiving weekend. My shopping and to-do lists are all checked off, and I’ve been attending holiday concerts and parties— all with a smile on my face (in public anyway).
I keep reminding myself that our loved ones wouldn’t want us to lose ourselves in sorrow. They’d encourage us to celebrate with family and friends, cherish our memories and continue traditions as best we can. Still, the noise of grief seems so much louder this time of year.
Thanks to the wisdom of fellow widows, family and close friends, I’ve been trying to cut myself some slack—learning to show myself the same compassion I’d freely to give someone else. For instance, if “Christmas Dream”—the song I shared with my mom—triggers a wave of tears, or if wrapping the kids’ gifts leaves me feeling gut-punched as Matt’s favorite Christmas movie lines echo in the background, that’s perfectly fine. I’m allowing myself to feel it.
So, as the “little lights keep twinkling” and the Griswold’s Christmas chaos starts over again, I’m realizing it’s okay to embrace the season, no matter how tangled my emotions might be. Grief may tag along for the holidays, but it doesn’t get to steal the whole show.
There are still sweet moments, belly laughs and the warmth of family and friends to wrap around me. This year, I’m giving myself permission to feel it all, honor what’s been lost, but also celebrate what remains. And that, I think, is a gift worth unwrapping.
It's All Part of the Experience 