12/17/19
Thanksgiving has been the most challenging holiday for me since my husband passed 3.5 years ago. It has been the hardest because it was his favorite. We spent the third weekend in November almost every year in the mountains of New Hampshire. This was our family tradition. We walked into town daily for hot chocolate, had snowball fights along the way, and played in the park along our familiar route. This was our routine, THEN IT WASN’T.
My husband passed in May 2016, and the following November, we decided to keep the tradition and go. Every moment of those few days was bitter. Every corner I turned I saw him, every food that touched my mouth reminded me of his love for this holiday meal. The bed I slept in that we shared, all of it. I was happy to be with my family, but that happiness wasn’t enough to negate the pain of those few days. We even skipped the tradition of going around the table and saying a few words about what we were thankful for. How were we, my three children and myself, supposed to find gratefulness in these few months post-tragedy?
The following year knowing better, I decided not to go to New Hampshire but instead to host. Before my husband passed, we entertained a lot, but that died along with him as it was too painful, not to mention difficult on my own. I was so grateful that my family gave up their tradition of Thanksgiving in the mountains to come to be with us in hot and sunny South Florida. It was a great night, music and dancing, and my home was filled with laughter and noise. Something that had been missing for a good year and a half.
Last year we returned to New Hampshire, and although it was better, I realized it was still tough. We changed things up a little, and I switched bedrooms, but still, my husband’s face was everywhere, and I felt my loss at an even greater magnitude those few days than on any other given day. This year we changed it up again, went out west, made a little vacation out of the week, and joined friends for dinner at a resort in southern California. Although I was trepidatious about this new venture, I was hopeful that a new routine would help me to accept this day with a clearer head.
I was wrong, Thursday came, and I was just as sad and anxious as I had been the previous 3 holidays. I was able to pull myself together enough to share a nice dinner with new friends, but truthfully, just like the past 3 years, I couldn’t wait for the day to end. Friday came, and I was great, back to my happy self, and I could enjoy the people and surroundings of this beautiful place. It is like someone flipped a switch, and I was “OK” again.
I realized this past week that I could take myself and move anywhere to try to change the “routine,” but the reality is that grief follows me everywhere. I cannot leave it behind in Florida, I cannot change the bedroom that we shared or forgo saying a few words and expect a different outcome. Grief is stuck on my shoulder, following me quietly everywhere I go, and some days it starts screaming in my ear and deafens me to the point that it is often incapacitating. So from now on, or at least until I feel “Ready,” I will do what has made me the happiest on Thanksgiving, I will host, and I will open my home to family and friends and allow joy and song back into our lives on a day that has been paralyzing for me these past 3.5 years.
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