It feels like I’ve been saying this to friends a lot this year. It’s not my own line, it was in a speech made by the Queen following 9/11, but it’s origins go back much further. It’s actually from a quote by Psychiatrist Colin Murray Parkes, whose book The full Bereavement: Studies of Grief in Adult Life, was published 1972. Here’s the full quote:

The pain of grief is just as much a part of life as the joy of love; it is, perhaps, the price we pay for love, the cost of commitment. 

Colin Murray Parkes

But It doesn’t matter who said it because it’s the most perfect line and sentiment.

Many people will be going into Christmas without their loved ones, largely due to the pandemic, but for many other reasons too. I want to say that while it might feel overwhelming, worrying and even scary, the coming weeks are nothing to be afraid of.

In September 2002, my mum died from breast cancer. It was a devastating period of my life. I was only 24, she was only 45. My grandparents outlived their only child, and my sister, Sarah, and I were left without a mother. I had to deal with my own crushing grief but felt I had to ease theirs too. I desperately wanted them to survive my Mum’s death and find some happiness. I didn’t want them to be consumed by grief.

Sarah and I managed to get on with our lives as best we could and still do. The pain of our loss has never gone away. Only eased as time goes on. My grandparents lived for us but there was nothing we could do to soothe their own grief. The daughter they brought into the world, the woman who gave them so much love was gone. Sarah and I couldn’t replace her. We could only give them momentary happiness, it was better than nothing. We did our best. 

I didn’t want to have anything to do with that first Christmas. I just wanted to skip it. Christmas without Mum was just too much to bear. Niki, who is my wife now, was amazing during that time to all of us. And when I said I didn’t want to do Christmas, it really upset her. It would have upset Mum too. We needed something to lift us. Christmas wouldn’t solve anything but it would give us a break, a little hope. 

We had Christmas Day at Mum’s house. Her husband, who was behaving appallingly to all of us, stomped about, his face full of fury, not saying a word. He was going to have lunch with his mother and not us. It was a relief when he left. He had chosen to be miserable and wallow in self pity. Grief does strange things to you but being unkind is no excuse. He told Sarah, later, when we had all gone, that he wanted to have a go at us. Presumably he thought we were pretending everything was fine. It wasn’t, but we chose to step away from our pain and make the best of it. 

We talked about Mum, we laughed about the funny things she had said, we reminisced about previous Christmases, we cried but we had fun. We had a good time. It’s a cliche but your deceased loved ones would not want you to be miserable. They’d want you to be happy, they’d want you to think about them and remember them fondly. It would crush them if you let their death destroy you. Unless that loved one was an absolute sadist there is no way they’d want you to be miserable at the most ‘magical’ and family focused time of year. So don’t feel bad about being happy. It’s not going to take away the love you hold for the person you’ve lost. They’d be proud of you. 

Take care, have a great Christmas. X