An Unexpected Holiday Guest: Grief (Doreen)

TW: Loss, grief

I stood in the kitchen, gazing out of the wide window into the night. I wasn't looking at anything in particular, but instead my view was blurred and soft. Lost in thought, I stood stoic, remembering. My partner walked into this space and I barely noticed until I heard, "What's wrong?".

"Nothing...I guess I'm still grieving the loss of Momo."

"...Still?"

It had been over six months since I lost my "soul cat," an intelligent black cat who lived to be 16 years old. If I took a step to the right and opened the refrigerator door, his medicine is still on the top shelf, wedged in the back. I don't have the heart to toss it, partially because it was wicked expensive but mostly because it would really, REALLY mean a harsh reality...that Momo is gone.

Grief has so many characteristics - once it hits, it is difficult to face. Sometimes, grief is a daze that engulfs you, floating around, nearly boundless. Grief is a thief, robbing you from moments with loved ones, of laughter, of a voice. Grief bubbles over and makes a mess that you don't have the energy to clean up. Grief is a teacher, the one who you couldn't stand, the one whose mere presence made you cringe. I've come to know grief, unfortunately, as a multiplier, one that takes a loss and piles on all the losses before it.

When I think of my grief, holidays come to mind. I remember my great uncle Rudy stirring mashed potatoes in a huge pot. I remember sitting at a card table with my brother and two cousins. I remember white and red turkey thermometers and wondering how they worked. I remember my dad sneaking pieces of turkey to the cats under the table. I remember cranberries, still holding the shape and ridges of the aluminum can. I remember to not romanticize the holidays with family - I remember arguments and tempers as hot as gravy. I remember loss - so much loss, so many people. It's quiet sometimes, and difficult to choose what to do with the silence.

My cat Momo was with me when I found out that my dad passed away. I held him and cried into his black fur, like velvet. When I got the phone call that I lost my only brother, Momo came right up to me, looking up with green eyes as shiny as marbles, as if he knew.

I handle my grief like a priceless vase, delicately and carefully. I speak to my grief like a child, with understanding and care. I deal with my grief by sitting with it - I do not run away, or hide from it (anymore, at least).

How do I deal with great loss, especially around the holidays? I remember both the good and the bad. I see moments with my loved ones rise up, like steam. I remember the feel of a worn couch underneath my brother and I, watching football on TV. I remember the chaos of cleaning after a massive meal. I remember the smiles...if I focus, I can see them, and bring back the sounds of laughter and togetherness.

Even when alone during the holidays, my imagination is my greatest comfort and company. It curls up on my lap, warm and purring, bringing me great calmness and joy.