Getting through holidays: a kitchen table post

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For many babylost parents, holidays are hard, sometime almost impossible. As many of us begin to be inundated with holiday music and decorations, and as invitations to parties we might not want to go to and the expectations of family and friends start to pile up, we invite you to our kitchen table — a safe space to talk about how holidays feel and what you really want to say in the face of all this bloody cheer. Pull up a chair. Let us fill your mug, and you can warm your feet by the fire, while we talk holidays around the Glow In The Woods kitchen table.

What was the first holiday you had to get through after your baby died and how did it go? 

Kathy: Tinsley was stillborn December 4th, so Christmas is now all wrapped up in her death. And her death is all wrapped up in Christmas. Our town holds a holiday festival the first weekend of December each year. It was on that Sunday morning right after my boys met Santa that we went to the hospital to hear that she was dead. I remember clutching my belly during the festivities, begging her to move, as the boys gleefully bounced from cookie decorating to building gingerbread houses to making ornaments. Without knowing it the way I know it now, that was the beginning of my first Christmas without her.  

I was in a lot of action in my early grief days. Maybe I was worried if I slowed down the grief would kill me. I found solace in keeping busy, and giving my sons the most magical visit possible from St. Nick was a good distraction. But I couldn’t bring myself to attend Christmas Eve service that year.  Hearing about anyone’s birth, even my Savior’s, was simply too much to bear. All I could do was listen to Silent Night on repeat and weep. 

Emily: Henry died on Good Friday, so Easter was two days later.  I don’t remember doing anything at all for Easter, but we had so many stuffed baby bunnies and little gifts around for him…another reminder that our sweet baby wasn’t with us.

Jo-Anne: Zia died in July 2013. The first holiday for me was Christmas since we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving in South Africa. By the holidays it felt like I was expected to be better, as if the previous few months weren't the hardest of my life. But I wonder now if that expectation was from those around me, or my own. Nine years later I still ponder those things. It wasn't easy. Everything was so raw still, but we survived.

Samantha: Halloween, just shy of four weeks after Alana’s death. It’s my favorite holiday—we had about six newborn size Halloween costumes/outfits for her. At that point, I was still somewhat in shock/denial, and trying to put on a brave face. I decorated the house (including the utterly macabre child-size skeleton that I had purchased a few weeks before while laughing at the reviews where people said they felt a little squeamish when they saw the size of it in real life, sigh) and went out and bought special chocolates for my neighbors’ kids. Then I ended up missing all the trick-or-treaters because I went to the cemetery at 4:30 (not realizing that people with kids tend to go out early before it gets dark… Alana was my first child) to bring Alana a miniature pumpkin and ended up bowled over her grave sobbing until the sun set. Needless to say, not how I ever expected her first Halloween to go.

Jen: Valentine’s Day was exactly one month after Anja was delivered, stillborn. My mom took my older daughter, who was three, to the pool for a couple of hours and I took myself for a short walk through a foggy drizzle, popped into a card store to buy a beautiful and very pink Valentine’s card and sat down in the coffee shop I spent much of my pregnancy writing in to try and compose my one-and-only Valentine to our sweet Baby Sister. Every love song on the radio was for her. Then I mustered strength to make sugar cookies with my three year old, letting her pour on sprinkles as if sugar could staunch our family heartache.

Like Nori, I spent my first birthday after Anja died crying and furious. I was 37 years old. I felt ancient, bitter, barren. I felt separated from the rest of the happy world by an impenetrable wall. I wanted to be an old crone in a fairy-tale forest, hidden away under a dark canopy of trees, keening and muttering my incantations against all the people who seemed so carefree and lucky.

Nori: I was expecting to celebrate Mother’s Day for the first time a few weeks after Olivia was born, since she was my first child. Instead, I was a mother, but I wasn’t celebrating. No one knew how to acknowledge that version of motherhood—the dark upside-down world version. The Christmas holidays were absolutely the hardest, and then my birthday which falls two days before Olivia’s. I refused to acknowledge either Christmas or my birthday the first year after she died, or the second. I stayed at home and cried. That has changed over time, but that’s what I could handle in the first two years.

How did you feel about holidays before? How do you feel now? How have holidays changed for you in the time you've been grieving?

Kathy: Well the holidays have changed, as much as everything has changed since she died—playing at the park, going to Target, apple picking, tying shoes… I’ve found that as my almost-worship-of-the-mundane-Tuesday-because-my-sons-are-breathing has intensified, my axis around wanting to make a big deal of the holidays has tilted. Especially now that I know when I’m buying wrapping paper or Easter eggs or pumpkin pie at the grocery store that the woman behind me in line might have just found out her brother was killed in a car accident, or she’s had another miscarriage, or her father has cancer or IVF failed again and she’s just desperate to make it through some forced celebration while her whole world has just crumbled… it’s like… a bit of a thud, isn’t it? 

Emily:  Henry was born 1 month before Christmas and it was such fun to celebrate with our family all together. Our Christmas tree that year had so many Baby’s First Christmas type ornaments. I had already planned what his Halloween costume would be (Charlie Brown). I still love the holidays, but I think my living son’s holiday excitement helps with that. I try to pause and take a minute to think of Henry and let myself sit with the sadness of missing him.

Jo-Anne: One thing that changed when Zia died was our approach to the holidays. In the past we'd attend big family get togethers that were spent overindulging to get through the awkwardness. After she died we realized the importance of our little family unit. We started spending holidays on vacation,  just the three of us, that or quiet days of lunch at home or with very close family. Time became more valuable, something not to be wasted.

Samantha: Holidays were always pretty big in my family—a time for gathering, celebration, food. And in the first few years, they were really disorienting. My family tried to just carry on, but Alana’s absence was so acute, the whole thing felt wrong. I felt so appreciative of my family, who had all rallied around us after Alana’s death and were so heartbroken along with us, and I knew they were all hurting too. As much as I wanted to run away and ignore the holidays, I didn’t want to abandon our loved ones, so we stayed. But it was all like a bad dream, just surreal. Thankfully over the years, and especially since welcoming Alana’s little brother and sister, holidays have come to feel more joyous again and we’ve found many meaningful ways to incorporate her into our traditions. They’ll never be the same as before, or as I imagine they would have been without this hole in our hearts, but they are at least better than I ever thought they could be.

Nori: Going through each holiday the first year without Olivia made me very aware of how many people are missing someone or suffering for some reason during holidays. It made me more aware of how many parts of holiday “traditions” are performative—like look how perfect my life is, look at all the milestones I’ve hit. I think I’m much more empathetic now to the fact that many people are feeling pain around different holidays, how holidays can amplify a loss, and you just feel crazy if everyone around you pretends that the only emotion that exists is joy. I deleted all my social media accounts because that felt like a space that really amplifies that performative perfection in a way that’s painful for me. 

What has helped you get through the holidays? 

Kathy: As I’m approaching Tinsley’s fifth heavenly birthday, it’s been helpful for me to stay open minded about how I will be feeling during the holidays because I just don’t know what to expect. My grief has surprised me at the strangest times, but I’ve had pockets of joy and happiness that have clocked me on the back of the head, too. But more practically, staying close to my loss mom friends is my number one tip for surviving the holidays. Having someone to text or call who has first hand experience on the battlefield has supported me like nothing else possible could.

Emily:  I think focusing on my living son has helped me to get through the holidays. I think the first year after Henry died was probably the most gut wrenching and as with all things, time has helped soften the edges a bit.

Jo-Anne: Focusing on my boys and spending as much time with them as possible. Christmas movies have been such a pick me up. Picking out gifts for Brady.

Samantha: Finding ways to incorporate her, both at holiday times (stocking, candle, signing her name on cards, including symbols of her in our decorations, acts of kindness in her name, etc.) and in our everyday lives (photos and mementos of her around our home, and especially the advocacy work I do in her name). Feeling like she is “with us” in some way even on ordinary days has taken some of the sting out of the “special” times of year.

Nori: Planning in advance how I will acknowledge my daughter, so that I’m not worried that she’ll be forgotten. Focusing on parts of the holidays that I authentically enjoy, like cooking meals with my family and going on walks in the snow. 

Jen: I struggled with this question. I sometimes feel like there is a set of coping strategies out there that I am supposed to learn but never have — like there’s a hidden grief manual that I haven’t found yet, and I’m just winging it every time. I do know that I feel better when I do something ‘good’ in her memory, and even better when I do it quietly, so no one knows but me, just my lost mama heart sending something good out into the universe. On the night she died, I saw a shooting star over the mountains. Sometimes it helps just to look north and skyward, to establish some connection.

Do you have any traditions to include your child in the holidays? 

Kathy: Many holidays I bring Tinsley a garden flag for her grave—Valentine’s Day, St Patrick’s Day, 4th of July, whatever it is. It’s a small thing but it’s a way to include her. And it’s nice to have something to give her when I visit. I also try to translate what I do for my living children for her, if at all possible. Sometimes it makes me feel better, sometimes it enrages me. Like, ‘here’s an Easter egg basket for your grave that a wild racoon is probably going to destroy.  Sure, that’s the same as you being here.’ 

Christmas is a little different because it’s my favorite holiday and because she died in December. I’ve incorporated her pretty profoundly in a number of ways, thanks to snowflakes (her symbol or icon or is there a word for this?). Snowflakes are everywhere I am around Christmas time. I use them as accents on our Christmas cards, candles, wall decals, pillows, ornaments, our tree topper, our tree skirt…Tinsley cannot be missed (ever) but especially in our house during what is supposed to be the happiest time of the year, she is abundantly near. Sometimes I get angry at other people’s snowflake decorations. Like I have some kind of claim on them or something – there is just nothing rational about grief or love, is there

Emily: We hang all his baby and remembrance ornaments on the Christmas tree each year.  This past spring, we attended a remembrance ceremony put on by the children’s hospital where he died and my son crafted a new ornament for him, so we’ll have a new addition this year. We always include a picture of a Teddy Bear to represent him on our Christmas cards.

Jo-Anne: We hang Zia's crystal angel on the tree every year since 2013. It's a little angel protectively holding a heart. It makes my heart ache and bloom all at the same time.

Jen: I always feel like I have failed in this regard. I wish I had traditions, especially because I think they help my living children grieve and find a place for Anja in our family life. I’ve tried some things but I’m terrible at consistency. We have ornaments for the Christmas tree that are Anja’s and we used to get a new one every year but we usually put up a small tree and now that we’re in double digits it feels a bit weird and unbalanced to have so many ornaments be ‘hers,’ like we’re overdoing it, performing grief and love instead of really feeling it. This—observing traditions in her memory, or my inability to do so—is one of the many things I can make myself feel guilty for, and guilt is such a trap for me. I love Jo-Anne’s tradition of having a single ornament, because that one ornament stays special and because the ritual is in the repetition. I think we should be taking off pressure where we can, not adding it where we don’t need to, and this will be different for everyone. I remember reading once on a discussion thread here, I think, about a mother who put out a stocking for her baby girl each year at Christmas and filled it with pink carnations. I love that so much, but have never managed to do it myself. 

Samantha: Lots of the same traditions as others have mentioned, and as others have shared, those traditions have changed over time. I’ve found it’s important to do whatever feels right that year, rather than sticking to traditions for tradition’s sake, otherwise as Jen said it starts to feel “performative” and like an obligation, rather than an act of love and remembrance. Over time the gestures and traditions have begun to hold less significance for me, since rather than being a rare opportunity to prove (to myself and others) that she’s still a part of our family, the holidays have started to feel more like any other day (grief-wise), since she is now so actively incorporated into our everyday (due to my vocal activism for stillbirth prevention) and there’s evidence of how she has shaped our lives everywhere.

Nori: We have a special Olivia ornament that we hang on the Christmas tree, and in past years I have incorporated her memory into gifts for my partner, like jewelry with her name engraved on it. I don’t think that’s something that will necessarily happen every year, as others said, I hope that how we incorporate her memory will naturally evolve over time.

What do you want those around you to know about grieving during holidays?

Kathy: In the early days, there is no break from the darkness. It may be a nice occasion for everyone else to celebrate together, but it is covered in black for us. Don’t interfere with us wanting to be as hopelessly grief stricken as we wish. And then as time passes, please remember that we miss our child just as much on our 20th holiday without him or her, as we did that very first one.

Emily: Holidays have their own whirlwind of stress and adding grief into the mix can increase that tenfold. I think people need to give a lot of grace to others —always, but especially so at the holidays. People should know not to be afraid to acknowledge your loss with you. I’ve found a lot of comfort in just feeling seen.

Jo-Anne: Zia is a part of me, of our family. She should be acknowledged. It wouldn't hurt to remember her, or even mention her  over the holidays. My mother-in-law is the only one who has always acknowledged her grandchildren who have passed, with her little ornaments and trinkets. I'm grateful for that. It gives me great comfort just knowing someone else remembers. I'm always reminded of that scene in Coco where Hector starts to fade because Mama Coco is forgetting him. I don't want that to happen to Zia.

Samantha: That there is no right or wrong way to grieve, and that grief looks different for everyone, and even different for the same person at different times. So give your loved ones who are grieving (and yourself) grace and try not to judge. The best thing you can do as someone supporting a griever is to acknowledge the person they are missing, acknowledge the heaviness of the grief, and remind them that grief is love.

Nori: Take the lead from the grieving person. If they bring up their lost loved one, it means they want to talk about them, so don’t change the subject. Give them compassion if at times they seem withdrawn or stressed. Having photos or mementos of Olivia on display when I visit is a nice, non-intrusive way for a loved one to let me know they are thinking of Olivia and haven’t forgotten her. 

How do you get through holidays? Not just the big December ones many of us are coming up on, but all the holidays you acknowledge and celebrate? If your grief is new or still acute, please feel invited to use this space to vent or ask questions. If you have found ways to help yourself and others, please do share. This kitchen table has room for everyone.