Yes, I do like to share my ideas in case you might need some
inspiration for your own tables.
But I also wanted to use these photos as a lesson about
perfect-looking images and how they can camouflage really tough days. I’ve
always thought the best thing about these wonderfully staged images is that
they can inspire our creative energies, and the worst thing about them is they
can set us up for disillusionment when we’re back in the real world with all its
variegated imperfections.
Here’s the truth.
I haven’t given any thought yet to my Thanksgiving table and
here it is, the day before. That doesn’t mean much unless you know me. And
while some of my delayed reaction might be lumped under the heading of ‘another
bizarre COVID-19-related experience.’ That’s not completely truthful.
Yesterday, I had a really hard day. Just so hard. If you’re trudging
through the holidays after a recent loss of a loved one you know what this means.
I haven’t had one of these days in a while. It began with an
insidious headache, mild but lingering in my soft temples all day, that was my
first sign. And of course, somewhere in my head I heard the voice of Cheryl, my
colleague from-my-old-therapist-days of the past telling me, “Leslie, did you know that
Gestalt therapists believe a headache is really pent-up tears?”
Yeah, Cheryl thanks for sharing this, and by-the-way do you know that
thirty years later-- every time I have a nagging headache I cannot get this bit
of body-mind wisdom out of my head?
Because yes, for me, ‘the headache thing’ is generally true.
Yesterday was a day when I couldn’t shake the low-grade headache that was
accompanied by a sorrow, so dense and heavy in the center of my chest that it
hurt. That’s where I feel my heartache in my body, and in the beginning this
chest pain was so bad my doctor sent me to the sweetest cardiologist, who did inform
me that yes, you can actually die of heartbreak and there’s a name for that
which I choose not to remember.
My heart, it hurts so much. It hurts.. oh God.
In the beginning I would say this out loud to Jim the way a sick child does, because I have to name what’s happening to me as a way of getting through it. I’ve learned that now. And so when the headache came yesterday morning with my coffee, I was also aware of a slow, wave of pain and longing for my boy, beginning to roll over me. What is that word that describes missing someone so intensely that it physical hurts? I don’t know it yet in alphabetical letters, but when I feel it---these bodily sensations and emotions take me to the edge of tears all day.
I'd describe it as a state of being held together by wispy threads of fragility that
feel almost otherworldly. Maybe this is what Father Greg meant when he told me that
God is always holding you in the palm of his hand, even when you can’t feel
this.
I don’t know.
But at the end of the day –after going to two stores to find
a turkey small enough --I walked into the house with my Whole Foods turkey, promptly
took two ibuprofen, called Jim to tell him I was going to take a nap, something
I never do. And I flopped on my bed.
I don’t know how long I lay awake before my uneasy sleep,
but I watched the light from my upstairs window move through shades of musky gray. At some
point it was dark and instead of jumping up and cleaning the morning dishes and
throwing a quick dinner together, I stayed on top my fluffy comforter and watched videos of Patrick on my IPhone, smiling and even laughing at his silliness. Remembering how
funny he was and loving his voice
Jim came home and I cried some more and we made a salad and
salmon together, watched some more of Queen’s Gambit, and afterwards we walked
Stella under a cold blue sky. And because the hurt in my chest still felt red
and raw, I became that patient who has gingerly left her hospital bed, and
is shuffling her feet down the cold linoleum hallway in order to regain her
strength.
Baby steps. One at a
time.
Yes, it had been a tough day.
In addition to learning how to move through the holidays
without Patrick—Jim and I decided to follow CDC recommendations against travel,
so we’re staying cozy and safe at home, which means a stunning reversal of traditional
Thanksgivings past, and for the first time in our lives we won’t be home with extended
family and friends. Nope, it will be just us three bodies and one beautiful spirit.
And yes, while we can acknowledge our personal choice in the
matter, if you’re like me, it’s been a long, tiring road of looking on the
bright side of this COVID-19 period. And it’s ok to recognize that there’s been
a substantial amount of letting-go experiences that so many of us are having to
accept right now. What that means is, that we’re all carrying around a lot of
small, stinging losses and grief. And it’s ok to sit with that.
On this day it didn’t help that my mother called me and
threw one of her fits, another one of her dramas. That’s another
tangible loss during the holidays that’s important to acknowledge. The very
real experience of loss that comes in the form of people that cannot show up
for us when we need them.
During regular life when we’re feeling strong and intact,
dealing with these family members is easier than during a year like this one.
Just saying. Stay aware or your expectations, it’s
ultimately the thing that protects us.
After my hard day I woke up to brilliant sunshine pouring through the clouds and even though
it didn’t stay around long, it showed up like a beaming smile of redemption.
Today. Hooray! I had no trace of a headache. I got my grocery shopping done by 8:30 am, where I had fun in the flower section picking out pale pink roses and shiny orange mandarins for my table. Michael called and said, “Love you Mom.” And I couldn’t help but want to write this post for anyone out there who might be coming into these holidays with a tiredness or feeling glum or nursing some disappointment and maybe you don’t even know why.
Here’s my advice. Be gentle with yourself. Stay aware. Drink
lots of water for physical and symbolic cleansing. Take intentional ‘breathing’
breaks. Listen to your body and notice where your body stores tension or
sadness. And when all else fails, take a damn nap even if it means leaving the kitchen a mess or postponing a trip to the grocery store.
Last night when I was crying on the kitchen stool, I told
Jim, “I’ll feel better in the morning. This is just a hard day.”
And do you know what?
I did feel better.
Because You and I are going to be just fine. No matter what
life brings us.
And your Thanksgiving this year—no matter how small and
different and odd it might seem as a result—will be beautifully imperfect.
Remember, we're all in this together my friends.
