Yesterday my sister and I came up with a plan to steal a holiday wreath off of a friend’s door. This particular friend, self indulgent and oblivious to anything that isn’t directly revolving around her, is constantly blowing up Facebook with her amazing achievements and overly important life. Most recently she posted photos of a Christmas wreath she made so it could be adorned by all of her Facebook ‘friends’.
The sheer egotism within her latest post sent me over the edge. “I feel like stealing that dumb wreath right off her door,” I texted to my sister. “Great idea!” she responded.
And so it was decided…my sister and I were going to explore our inner Grinch.
Why would we do something like this?
Because her joy is, to put it simply, irritating.
I realized that both my sister and I dread the holidays every year, but for completely different reasons.
My sister, mother to four boys, has always worked extremely hard to make a decent living. Like most of the free world, December is a serious financial burden for her. Giving her boys a good Christmas is sometimes difficult and December always hangs a dark cloud over her paycheck to paycheck lifestyle.
This fact sometimes gets lost in my envy of her.
She will have all four of her boys with her on Christmas morning. It will be loud and chaotic and she will probably need Xanax.
It will be the polar opposite of Christmas morning at my house.
Financially Christmas isn’t burdensome to me. Emotionally, however, it is devastating.
This will be my third Christmas without my son.
My house will be silent on Christmas morning. I will give my dogs special treats, reply to a few Merry Christmas text messages and try like hell to not be devoured by the emptiness that consumes me.
My son’s death left a hole so big in our family that you can actually taste it at family events. This is why the holidays, full of family events, leave a very bitter taste in my mouth. It is why, even though I am welcome, I won’t submerge myself in the Christmas morning chaos at my sister’s house. Because the tangible emptiness that everyone feels during family events is only escalated when I am there. It is like I am wearing a shirt that says “MAX IS DEAD” whenever I partake in family functions. This isn’t because my family feels sorry for me. It is just because we feel sorry…for Max, for ourselves, for each other. We all hate the taste his absence leaves in our mouths, but each of us has had to learn to swallow it anyway.
When you loose someone who is such a big part of your family the holidays stop being about togetherness and instead become a time to reflect on what is lost.
Which, I believe, is exactly how the Grinch came to exist.
So my friend’s wreath is still on her door. I imagine my sister and I will be too busy, too tired and too moral to actually take it. But just the idea of taking it has made both of our holidays seem a little more joyous. You can judge us for that….for wanting to steal a little joy away from someone else in order to give it to ourselves. I believe that when grief comes you can’t be held responsible for the new ways you try and discover joy.
In my book, the fact that people keep trying to find joy at all is good enough.
