Grief, Advent and Candles

 

I always look forward to Advent, my favorite liturgical season for many reasons. I love the readings, the music, the anticipation, the twinkling of lights, the scent of candles, and the jingle of ornaments brushed by the backs and tails of cats who think the tree was put up specifically to amuse them and to provide a nice napping spot.

My family tradition was to put up the tree on Thanksgiving weekend, but I wasn’t ready to do it this year. Having lost one of my boys, Gandhi, on the Monday before Thanksgiving, and his brother, Dominic (Domi), the day after the holiday, it was hard to do even the simplest things. This week has been a bit better, but my third cat, Phoebe, and I are still struggling to find a new normal.

I know many people are walking the same path this year. There were many others in past years, and undoubtedly there will be many more in future holiday seasons. I remember losing my brother a few Decembers ago, just before Christmas. I still half expect my phone to ring on Christmas Day and the sound of my brother’s voice on the other end. I know others have the same hope and grief when there’s another empty chair at the Christmas table or a lack of contact from someone exceptional in our lives during the holidays. Even though my two boys were cats, they had been my babies and companions for over fifteen years. Their departure leaves a massive hole in our household.

 I’m really beginning to dread the holidays because I wonder who will go sometime this year or next. I don’t just dread holidays. I’m starting to dislike them, no matter how hard I try to decorate a tree, bake savory presents for friends, and feel Christmas-y even around good friends.

I miss the anticipation of the holiday season that I used to have. I loved riding around with my family, looking at the houses and trees trimmed with multicolored lights, tinsel strings, and garlands. I miss the caroling we used to do. No matter how cold or miserable the weather, we walked around town if we couldn’t drive to shut-in friends. We’d end the evening by gathering at someone’s house for hot chocolate and cider, Smithfield ham biscuits, and several kinds of holiday cookies. I miss the candlelight service at church and the midnight mass especially. I loved walking home in the wee small hours after mass and looking up at the sky where the stars seemed to twinkle so much more brightly than any other night of the year. There was a feeling of heaven being very close, only a thin veil between me and it.

There was, and is, so much to look forward to during Advent and Christmas. Advent is preparation – contemplation, getting ready, and anticipation. It’s such a holy time without a rush toward Christmas that we are exposed to in the media, shops, and stores. Despite grieving my boys, I still yearn to get the slightest bit of anticipatory joy. I want to enjoy the things I used to. I miss the Advent and Christmas seasons in Colonial Williamsburg with its hot spiced cider and gingerbread, decorated 18th-century houses, and maybe even snow. I can make cider and gingerbread, but it isn’t quite the same, much as an almost empty house is not quite as joyful and familiar.

I know how lonely the holiday season, including Advent, can be. This year, my objective is to look around me and see who could use a telephone call or a card. I don’t have much money, but perhaps I could knit a cap and mittens, even if Arizonans often scorn such things. I probably should get some plastic tubs and make shelters for my two outdoor cats, Buddy and Sandy. I should get out more and, when I do, smile more. Smiling at someone I don’t know, and getting one back, is really satisfying. And why should I resist doing that for the rest of the year? Don’t people need smiles all year round?

Ok, that is my Advent project. I still have my girl cat, my warm and dry trailer, the ability to decide what I will do and when (for the most part), and the desire to make the season a bit brighter. After all, the coming of Jesus during a dark period of life in the Middle East gave a tiny bit of light that grew and grew. Maybe I need to remind others, invite them to light a small candle and encourage them to pass the light along. The grief may still be there, but giving the ray of hope could make a big difference.

 Have a blessed Advent. There are still three weeks to go, so I better get busy.