How to grieve during the holidays

Since June, I have been under a slow dripping tap of dread. With each day that passes, I am filled more and more with the agonizing realization that Christmas will be different this year. 

It will be the first Christmas I spend without Baba — my grandmother — and it’s hard to know what to do with grief on the holidays.

I’ll cry when my plane lands in Toronto. I’ll wince when Frank Sinatra’s Christmas album plays over the speakers at the mall. 

I’ll have “buy a fancy bath wash” on my Christmas shopping list, then cross it off because I no longer have someone to open that gift — kicking her feet saying, “Oh Anna, thank you, I am going to be so beautiful!” 

When I take my little brother shopping for our family, he will walk into the jewelry store and over to the silver earrings, but walk out empty-handed. 

Christmas Eve will be quiet. We will have crackers, but no cheese because our cheese person didn’t show up. Christmas morning will be even quieter. The family will sit around the table, drinking orange juice out of our special Christmas glasses, looking at the empty seat. Will we set a place for her? My mom might. 

Baba was perfectly healthy — late 80s but didn’t act a day over 60. She and I texted regularly. She was the face of her local church in Burlington, Ont., and she worked hard to appoint their now beloved transgender pastor, Penny. 

Baba went for drinks with her friends, passionately spoke about her hatred for Donald Trump, hosted dinner parties, jumped and cheered for the Toronto Blue Jays and Maple Leafs and really loved her scotch.

She was getting ready to meet her friend for dinner when she had a massive stroke, damaging half her brain. 

Still, the doctors were convinced she waited for me to fly home and say goodbye. Her eyes were closed, and she couldn’t speak, but I knew she could hear me. She held a bag of Werther’s Original in one hand and my hand in the other when I said goodbye.  

Every day since then, I have thought about how I have to go home for Christmas without her there. 

Grieving a family member, be it a grandmother or a hamster, doesn’t come with a user manual. But it does come with reviews and other customer experiences. Maybe my grief can help you.

Let yourself be sad

The day after she died was my younger cousin’s birthday. Our family is small, the nine of us fit easily around my uncle’s backyard table for barbeque dinners. But that day, there were eight, an obvious empty chair in her usual spot. 

Two hours went by without anyone addressing the gap. We played games, but had no fun. We hugged, but with frowns on our faces. We were completely pretending. It wasn’t until we were eating cake that someone addressed it. I can’t remember if it was my mom or uncle, but they said, “So there’s somebody that should be here.” 

I looked around the table, and everyone’s faces blurred, but I could still see their eyes welling with tears. We toasted to Baba/Grandma/Mum/Judy, downing our wine faster than we otherwise would have. 

Though it may seem counter-intuitive, it really helps to laugh.

A month or so after Baba died, the Toronto Blue Jays swept the New York Yankees during a four-game series over the week of Canada Day — one of Baba’s favourite holidays. 

My dad joked that Baba would have been firing off a string of posh exclamations during these games. Then my cousin made a comment about her in heaven, thinking Ernie Clement is cute. 

It was insensitive, too soon and exactly what we needed. 

After a beat of silence, we all began to laugh. As it barreled over the backyard, I realized that we would be okay. 

So, if you have grief waiting for you this Christmas, confront it.

Cry when your tears come knocking, but don’t be afraid to laugh. It’s okay to drink a little more wine than you did last year. You can enjoy yourself, even with a hole in your heart. 

The first Christmas without that person you love, let yourself laugh, let yourself cry and try to remember the cheese for your crackers.