The holiday season is joyful for most, filled with cheer, happiness, reflecting on the past year with gratitude, and looking forward to the coming year with hope, excitement, and the promise of a clean slate. But for some, the impending holidays and new year break open a wound that may have just begun to heal, allowing grief to spill back out. The young woman who finds herself suddenly widowed. A child who is grieving the loss of a parent. Two people who once belonged to a couple, now split in two, facing a very different holiday season - alone. And those who at one point in time looked forward to starting their families, yet now find themselves with nothing but loss, a diagnosis, and grief.
Grief can be gradual, a slow crescendo over time until it reaches a climax. For many, they look at the holidays with impending doom. For others, it can be sudden, a surprising forte in an otherwise gentle melodic arc. When the holidays are over, the anxiety and sadness slowly settle back to wherever "normal" was before. No matter how it arrives, grief can manifest in that heavy feeling in your chest, pain that feels too great to bear, an especially isolating feeling when the people around you are celebrating. When the holidays hurt, you focus on one thing only: getting through them in one piece. Or at least being able to pick up the pieces soon after if you can't make it through without falling apart.
Last year, my holidays were full of joy and gratitude. In November, in Washington DC for a conference, I saw the first positive pregnancy test in the 15 months that had passed since our first loss. That positive came just days before a previously scheduled infertility consultation that had been on the calendar for weeks. Ben joined me in DC that weekend, and I greeted him at the airport with a terrible handmade sign that said "Congratulations Daddy!" We spent the weekend, and following weeks, in a state of pure bliss, grateful our worries that something may be wrong were unfounded.
We saw a heartbeat at 6 weeks - a milestone we never reached with our first. We told his family at Thanksgiving, while taking a family photo so we could capture their reactions. At Christmas, during my family's White Elephant gift exchange, I picked a present I myself had brought, feigning surprise when opening a onesie and exclaimed that we would need it in the summer.
The week between Christmas and New Year's, we had our second appointment at the birth center. When the midwife couldn't find a heartbeat, she tried to reassure us that 9 weeks was early, it would likely be fine, but recommended an ultrasound to be sure. That reassurance I felt when listening to the heartbeat at our first appointment, the joy in the weeks that followed, were replaced with dread. The minute the doctor turned on the ultrasound and I saw my little gummy bear suspended silent and still, I knew. A few moments later he confirmed it, "I'm so sorry. I don't see a heartbeat." I curled up on my stunned husband's lap and cried. Two weeks later, after having contractions for days, so painful that I sat rocking in the bathtub for hours, I finally passed my child and the pregnancy was officially over.
Of course this year would be difficult. Every month brings the one-year-anniversary of each milestone, first moments of joy, then of grief and pain. We know now that a successful pregnancy is highly unlikely for us. We know now that the treatment with the best possible chance of success would require thousands of dollars and an egg donor. We now grapple with our options, none of which feel good or right. We want our own, biological child. People tell us "if you want to be parents, you will be, maybe in a different way." We don't want a different way.
The holidays are a time when we are surrounded by joy, by happy families, by easy pregnancies that result in living children. While generally, I have learned to compartmentalize and untangle my sadness from the joy of others, it is harder to do at this time of year, when that joy is so saturated around me. This year I grieve the loss of my children, I am re-living the ups and down of the anniversaries that this year marks, and I am grieving the loss of what most people don't give a second thought - building a family by simply deciding to do so.
Many people in your life, whether you know it or not, are hurting this holiday season. Seeing their sadness may make you feel uncomfortable. It might feel better to ignore them, and focus on the happy things in your life. But it doesn't have to be either/or. We don't have to choose between celebrating our joys and supporting those who are in pain. We can do both. We can celebrate all the people in our lives, not only the ones who send holiday cards of their growing families, or share photos on Facebook of their happy family gatherings. We can tell our loved ones we wish the best for them, regardless of their life circumstances. Don't feel bad about sharing your own happiness, your joy. But forgive those who may not be able to fully celebrate it because it reminds them of their own pain.
If you suspect someone is hurting and don't know how to help, ask them. Send them a text or an email (so they don't have to figure out an answer on the spot) telling them you are thinking of them. Ask how you can support them. When you see them in person, ask "how are you?" and mean it. But don't be offended if they don't share. If they ask for space, give it. Don't get frustrated if they choose to skip the family gatherings or cut them short. Give them support, don't tell them how to grieve.
Sending wishes of love and peace to those who are in this space of holiday grief and pain. In a few weeks, we will have made it out on the other side, and this too will be in the past.
So beautifully written, as always. Sending all my love and I am still so sorry for you loss.