By Neal Lemery
When I was a kid, Christmas was always a bittersweet time. Lots of emotions were at play, even though the family worked together to make it a joyous and happy time with lots of festiveness and fun. It had all the attributes of a good time for a kid: a Christmas tree, happy music, great food, presents, and family members singing uplifting music. There was mystery and magic, good surprises, Midnight Mass, and hugs all around.
It was also the only time of the year I would see my grandma cry, weeping and then sobbing, and running off to her room for a half hour to compose herself, right when she was making the mulled sauce for the traditional Christmas Eve ham. No one would talk about why she would burst into tears, until I, being the impertinent child, asked her one year. My question got a scathing look from my mother, but I persisted.
I learned that Grandma’s mom had died on Christmas Eve, many years ago, and what was supposed to be a happy day was marked by deep sadness, and grief. Our family didn’t talk much about grief and loss anyway, so it didn’t surprise me that the anniversary was tough on all of the family, especially my grandmother. She was the queen at burying her emotions and not sharing difficult times. She didn’t share her emotions with anyone, especially the hard and deeply personal emotions of losing one’s parent when they were a kid.
Once I learned about the anniversary, I went out of my way to be kind to Grandma at Christmas, and gave her some hugs, and shared funny stories. I was able to get Grandma to talk about her mom, and tell some sweet and loving stories of her, and how she loved her family. After our talk, and sharing her feelings with the rest of the family, she warmed up, and became more open about being emotional and kind. Christmas wasn’t a mine field anymore, and we were all better at talking about our feelings.
This Christmas is a lot like that Christmas. It is a time of raw and tender emotions, a time of having a deep sense of loss and grief, and not knowing how to deal with a lot of complicated and conflicting emotions. The air feels heavy, and I’m not navigating through the season with a sense of joy or enjoyment. It seems that many of us are grieving and struggling in a tough year, where our lives are unsettled, and we are adrift, unsatisfied, and hurting.
A lot of that is our political experiences, but other aspects of our cultural and social life also seem out of whack, disorienting, and blurry. Watching the news or attending a concert of what should be our favorite and happy music seems to leave me unsettled, unsatisfied, and yes, disturbed, often angry and adrift. There’s a big chunk of a sense of order and goodness that is missing or just out of place. And, I don’t have good words to describe that. Like my grandmother grieving for her mother’s death anniversary at Christmas, I don’t have the words, and I resist talking about it. Part of me wants to hide, and live in denial.
This fall, I watched Ken Burns’ engaging documentary on the American Revolution, which gave me new insight into the American psyche and a renewed sense of history and the deep roots of the American spirit. There was a discussion of Thomas Paine’s influential pamphlet, Common Sense, and its opening sentence: “These are the times that try men’s souls.”
We are living in a similar time, where we are grieving the loss of some of our culture, values, and sense of morality. We often feel adrift, unsure of where the country is headed, of what our own place is in what is coming. It seems to be a good time for being reflective and purposeful. I often feel lost and aimless, and not really being able to give words to what I’m feeling.
Joan Baez recently spoke on finding and rediscovering one’s own sense of purpose and moral center. She was receiving a big award for her creativity, and spoke candidly and intensely to the Hollywood elite at the awards event.
“f your voice can move millions and you choose not to use it for those who have no voice, then you are not creating change – you are creating noise.”
“If you have more than you need, it no longer belongs only to you. Your responsibility is to lift up those who are still beneath you.
“Legacy is not built on what you earn. It is built on what you give.”
I’m feeling I’ve misplaced my mojo, my sense of purpose, but Baez’ words are a wake-up call. We Americans have a rich heritage, and we have the tools to strengthen and rebuild our culture, and rediscover our sense of purpose and mission. I now see a lot of that renewal, that renaissance, and it gives me joy and hope.
Like my grandmother, we can give ourselves permission to grieve our losses, deal with our shared pain, and move forward, to give love to our families and our communities, and to make a real difference.