Sunday, December 30, 2012


My Remembrance Tradition

This morning, I grabbed the wrapped Christmas Cookies I found in my stocking at Christmas.  I sat on the couch to the news section of CBS online to review the news.  As I quickly glanced past stories on the Fiscal Cliff, Storm Sandy, and Sandy Brook - all grave impacts to Americans -I stopped, as I seem to do every year, at the traditional segment.  I looked down to realize next to me is my last Christmas Cookie of the Season!  This last Christmas Cookie symbolizes the start an annual personal tradition. 
This time of year, from Thanksgiving until New Years, is always special and emotional for me.  I smile with friends, attend celebrations, share gossip with old friends, run into old flames, commiserate with associates, and listen to stories from those who seem nearly ancient.  I celebrate the Birth of Christ, listen to Handel’s Messiah at least once, hear retelling of family stories, and reconnect with that little kid once was.  For me, this personal celebration of Life, Family, Friends, and Faith reconnects me with my Family, my old friends, and to my History. 
This season brings tremendous Joy, where even Heavens Angels and the most notorious of Scrooges among us seem to participate, and it heightens the memories of the lives that impact us.  When most of the festivities are over, after the temporary expansion of the belt, when I have the last of Mom’s Annual Christmas Cookies, I am left with a deeply important personal tradition. 
With the Christmas Cookie by my side, I begin to reflect on the year.  With that cherished last Santa Claus, I reflect on all the Joy of this Season, all the Laughter, every special time spent, all the tradition, every smile, and all the Hope.  Often, this tradition is ushered in by either the first sighting of the "In Memoriam" section from a News organization or realization of the last Christmas Cookie from Mom.  Depending on the year it may be for minutes, but usually it is for quite a bit longer. 
I treasure all of the story-telling, gathering with friends and family, and enjoying the emotions that accompany the fabulous food, the concerts, and the gifts.  I even look for the same baubles on the tree, each year, just to make sure the special ones are there.   Yet, with all the joyous merry making, the ghosts of Christmases Pasts and Experiences Past rise up, to comfort, to haunt, to encourage, and to remind.  I am certainly not immune from their visits. 
Since the early 1990s, when I was nearly devastated from nearly monthly losses of both family and friends, I began to respond to the seemingly overwhelming moments of grief, regret and loneliness that can accompany those ghosts when they visit.  In the deepest moments of grief, loss, and devastation, I needed a time to grieve personally, heal emotionally, and hopefully move through the depression, loss and hurt.
Over the years, it is with the last Christmas Cookie, which seems to be what represents for me the most hopeful thoughts, most loving traditions, the most powerful positive emotions, that I open up to those other emotions.  I take the time to celebrate the memories of those who I still miss, those I still love, those I wish were still here, and those who were most relevant in my life, but who I can no longer touch, visit or hug.   And, it is personal, because for those moments, those hours, I am at one time singing and rejoicing in having known them, yet in the next moments sobbing, with tears streaming down my face for still missing them so terribly much.
This Remembrance Tradition allows me to balance the loss of my Father with the many values, experiences and DNA faults he passed on to me.  My mom has often identified which DNA I inherited from my dad.   It helps me balance the regrets in my life with the achievements.  And, at the end of this experience, I find forgiveness, love, hope, and strength.  I also laugh as I remind him that this year, I had more Russian tea cakes than he did.
I greatly miss Doug, Mike, Kevin, and a host of other dear friends who died of AIDS and the devastating illnesses that accompany that disease.  Yet, through this annual time I set aside to add to that terrible list, I carefully reflect and rejoice that I have also added friends, close and dear as well.  I have learned that when I am feeling overwhelming grief in the loss of a friend, that I will find love in some moments in the past or future.  While in this moment I once again visit the cave in my memory left by a dear friend, carved out by love but drained out by loss, I can find peace in reflecting on the acceptance I felt when I was with them, the love they gave and that I returned. 
Yet, new losses touch old more painful loss.  I understand that if I never loved again or made a new friendship, I would never have to grieve again.  I miss friends who died suddenly, like Willow, yet reflection tempers grief.  Tthrough establishing this tradition of reflection and remembrance, I have found ways to remain open to new friendships, revel in old relationships, and revere the intimate moments between friends laid bare in crisis without becoming depressed, stuck in the past, or left with feelings of abandonment. 
I balance the personal losses with the realization that I have those around me who stand in their place.  When I have felt some of the most overwhelming feelings of grief, it is in these moments when I remember the truths of this personal tradition.  Even when I feel alone, the truth is that there are always friends ready to rush to my side to comfort, care and worry about me.   
In moments when overwhelming fear commands my attention, when the fear of loss staggers me, when my energy is pressed beyond my abilities, I have friends who call, intervene, or rush to my aid.  And, in this moment, I can let out all the pain, terrible fear, anger at life’s cruelty, and accept my feelings of exacerbation hurt, because just as those emotions overwhelm me and tears flow down my cheeks, the thoughts of friends close by and far away balance me, bringing me stability, thoughts of comfort, and ultimately back to the couch, where I find that Santa has been consumed.
Then, I laugh.  My moments of grief aren’t over.  My moments of despair have not come to an end.  I have not attended my last funeral.  I will still lose another best of friends; I will someday soon lose one of those who adopted me into their home.  I will probably still find myself grieving with someone who will die of AIDS.  Yet, I know I will still rush to their side to comfort them.  It is what I do, who I am, and why I treasure this Remembrance tradition.
This tradition reminds me to maintain perspective.  These moments remind me of the values I have been taught, the wisdom that has been gained, the wide range of emotions that we are able to express, and the overwhelming experiences we can endure. 
Over 20 years of this Remembrance Tradition has allowed me a process of facing overwhelming feelings of grief, extraordinary pain and terrible losses.  It continues to revitalize my will, my love, encouraging my laughter and my hope.  One day, I will meet the little old ladies I met when I was a kid.  I will see my Dad and grandparents.  I will see those who were in pain and could no longer stay here.   It is no wonder to me that I set this time aside.  As I finish my active grieving, wash away my tears, box up the memories, and usher out the ghosts, I remember where I left a gingerbread man who survived! 
With the Gingerbread Man in hand, I can confidently say I have faced horror, grief, loss, and overwhelming emotions.    I am able to hug and hold someone who needs the same kind of comfort I needed. 
Perhaps that is why I select the last Christmas Cookie or the “In Memoriam” as my starting point.  With all the love of my Mother's heart, I start facing current hurts and pains, face the old ones, and prepare for the new.  With the symbols of love, hope, and goodness, I can face any of the emotional darkness.  During the celebration of the Prince of Peace, these moments restore my being and my foundation to a place of Peace.  And, each year, at the end of these moments, I thank the Lord for my Mom, this year’s Christmas Cookies, the experiences of this year, no matter how good or how awful.  I pray for my friends and family.  I pray that the next year brings “Yes and More”.   I take the time to raise the last small portion remaining of my Christmas Cookie, break it, Commune quietly with the past, with the grief, embrace it all and let it go so that I can get ready for next year without hindrance, hurt or harm. 

 

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