The Presence of Absence at Christmas ...

I notice your absence.

I notice your non-presence and reflect

on the time when you were present ...

Jarod Kintz

Hello everyone,

I've just finished all the happy "work" of the holidays and now there is time to sit back by the fire with a cup of tea to reflect on the holiday experience thus far. 

The winter holidays are usually the most joyful time of year for me. I love everything about them - the lights, the colours, the gifts, the music, the connection with family and friends. This year, however, changes in the pattern of life have subdued some of that joy. One sister, who lost her partner last spring, is grieving. The other sister is far away in Dawson City, without her family, working through the holidays. My dear friends, whose daughter is spending Christmas in a hotel room in a small city in Borneo rather than joining them for Christmas dinner, are missing her presence. And my own traditional plans for Christmas Day have taken a different path this year, asking me to spend most of Christmas Day alone.

At one point during the week, I sat down with my journal to better understand the strength of my emotional response to these "absences". I was sad and angry and lonely to a degree that seemed a bit of an overreaction to the actual circumstances. (After all, I am hardly a Syrian refugee being torn from everything I know or a family caregiver saying goodbye to a loved one who will die over the holidays.) As usual, after digging a little deeper, I realized that the intensity of my response came from layers of similar experiences in times past, times when the presence of absence figured strongly in my life. 

Whether at the very beginning of life when I lived as a boarder baby in a hospital nursery or during the many times in my childhood when my beloved father disappeared without warning on an alcoholic binge or throughout the early years of my bereavement following the deaths of my husband and mother, this "presence of absence" has had a strong, if sometimes unconscious, effect on my life. Now, when current holiday experiences trigger the emotional memories of these absences, my old and new reactions can mix together and become a little over-the-top.  

It is in the nature of life that we live in the presence of absence. Something or someone is almost always missing or about to go missing. Most of us build up an internal file folder of "absence experiences" over time, a folder that has the potential to raise our emotional intensity whenever it is reopened by a current loss or disappointment. 

So, what do we to do when this file folder is opened unexpectedly and all those old pages of absence fall out on the floor with their attendant emotions?

The first step is to recognize that this, indeed, is what's happening. This recognition lets us separate present experience from past emotion, allowing us to respond to the current absence with more appropriate intensity.

Secondly, we can reach out for a "presence" to calm and balance the experience of absence. Tell a trusted friend how you're feeling, write in your journal, pray, meditate, lean into the web connecting all human beings for support and comfort.

Thirdly, make a concrete action plan for doing the best you can with the absence situation that faces you. I have a large turkey thigh in the fridge waiting to be stuffed tomorrow morning, a fire all ready to be laid in the fireplace and a new book on hand to open tomorrow afternoon. I've also booked telephone visits with particularly supportive loved ones, spread throughout the day. It won't be the Christmas I want but it can be a better one than the lonely one I'd imagined.

And, finally, after the holidays have passed, you can consider seeing a good therapist to work at emptying your absence file folder of some of its older pages so that your holiday emotions can gradually become less overwhelming.

Whatever the absences present in your life this holiday season, may each of you find sufficient gifts of peace and joy to balance them. 

  

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Jan

Christmas Choices...

For exhausted family caregivers and over extended helping professionals, the holidays can feel like adding a 100 pound pack to the running of a marathon. The season of giving becomes one more burden to shoulder rather than the warm, peaceful celebration we all dream about.  If trying to maintain family obligations and holiday traditions is getting you down, try these three suggestions made by Jo Robinson and Jean Coppock Staedheli in their popular book, Unplug the Christmas Machine.

1.  Take stock.  Ask yourself why you feel more wrung out and exhausted during the Christmas season.  Are you trying to see too many people?  Are you working extra shifts to pay for bigger gifts and better trimmings? (Is it worth it?)  Are you trying to spend time with people who don't understand your current situation or with those who are conflictual or badly behaved? Are you expecting yourself to carry on traditions that no longer fit for you and your family?  Or does a busy, crowded holiday just not fit with your values?  Once you have identified the sources of your exhaustion, you can start to do something about them.

2.  Look for practical solutions, even if it means breaking traditions.  When we see the causes of our seasonal tiredness, we can usually see very quickly what we would like to change.  We realize that once enjoyable traditions no longer fit our changed circumstances.

3.  Communicate your wishes to your family and friends.  If at all possible, talk to family members well ahead of time about any major changes and realize that it may take some people longer than others to get used to the fact that Christmas won't stay the same forever.  Don't try to make all your changes at the same time (-unless illness or injury forces your hand).  Planting a seed now can bear fruit for next year.  Most importantly, take the time to explain your feelings and ideas thoroughily and calmly, without blaming others or becoming defensive.  And remember that every change represents a loss so you will need the opportunity to grieve before moving on.

I have always loved Christmas and its traditions and when my husband became ill, I was loathe to give up any one of them.  I worked hard to deep the holidays unchanged not realizing that a change could be a wonderful gift.   The fourth year of his illness, we were forced to realize that we could no longer spend the night before Christmas in the company of loved ones at Midnight Mass.   We grieved in anticipation of our lonely Christmas Eve then made a conscious effort to "light a candle rather than cursing the darkness" and planned our own quiet service at home   It was one of the most beautiful Christmas eves I've ever spent.  Accompanied by one dear friend, we sat around a livingroom table in the soft candlelight and the glow of the Christmas tree listening to the gentle strains of carols as my husband celebrated a simple communion service . I remember the reflection of candles in the 100 year old chalice of an unknown Army chaplain, the simple and familiar prayers and the feelings of deep peace and intimacy.  If we hadn't broken with tradition, we would never have known the gift of that gracious Christmas Eve.