On Grief and Gratitude
Nothing fills my heart more than having our adult kids and grandkids home for the holidays. Nothing. I prepare for weeks, spend a fortune, and collapse from exhaustion when they drive away — but when we gather, my heart overflows with love. We don’t host them all the time; they switch off holidays. One year, they visit us Thanksgiving; the next year, Christmas. I live for the holidays we “get” them.
The last holiday we spent together as a complete family was two years ago on Thanksgiving. All four adult kids and their spouses, all ten grandchildren, the turkey trot, the bird and mashed potatoes and apple pie, even the matching pajamas. All of it. We had it all.
Until we didn’t. Eleven months later, our first-born son, the center of our family universe, a positive, fun, hard-working, loving husband and father, died. Suddenly, tragically, he left us. His wife, his three young boys. His brothers and sister and nieces and nephews. He left us all forever and our lives will never be the same. We’ll never have it all ever again.
After his death, all the love in my heart hardened like a rock into grief. The first holidays after his death were a blur. We barely breathed. Eating was a chore. Sleep was a nightmare. The world may have shouted, as it does every holiday season, be thankful! Be merry! But our hearts were heavy with despair; there was no room for gratitude or joy.
This past Thanksgiving, we gathered again. Without Steve. It’s been over a year now. And the magnitude of sadness in my heart has not lessened. Steve’s absence was overwhelming — as it always is. My heart ached; I miss him so much. But, for the first time, alongside the sadness, I felt gratitude. Not just fleeting moments of thankfulness. Real gratitude. I was thankful for my family, for their support and love throughout this horrendous journey. It was as if my heart had opened the door, ever so slightly, to feelings other than despair. Although time has not diminished the weight of my grief, it had allowed feelings of gratitude to slip in and stay awhile.
I will tell you when gratitude and grief co-exist, it’s messy. I can be smiling at the kids playing air hockey, see one of the boys, realize their dad is not with us and never will be with us again, and my tears start. I can see a box of Cheez-its, Steve’s favorite, and my tears start. It doesn’t take much. There’s no switch to turn one emotion off and another on. Plus, if I’m being honest, I will admit: I don’t want to stop missing Steve. I don’t want to stop missing his sarcasm, his hugs, his obsession with gear and shoes and lifting. I don’t want to stop missing him ignore my texts. “Just a thumbs up,” I used to tell him. “That’s all your mother asks for!” What I’d give now for an ignored text! I miss all this and more, and I don’t want to stop missing any of it. I want my memories of Steve to always be as intense as they were on November 11, 2023, the day we learned we lost him. Missing Steve will consume a large part of my heart until the day I die. And that’s okay.
But I know that it’s good, it’s healthy, to feel things other than sadness. And I realize these feelings are being nudged into my heart through the grace of others. The hugs, the phone calls, texts, and emails, the consistent, patient, empathy of family and friends who loved Steve. The support from people who care, organizations that exist to support Gold Star Families, strangers who listen patiently when I can’t get the words out. Through the grace of others, my grief is slowly, tentatively learning to co-exist with gratitude.
As time passes, maybe it will get easier. I don’t know. For us, holidays will never be the same. We’ll never have it all again. All we can do now is make the holidays the best we can make them. And be grateful for the ever-patient love of others that finds space in our heart, alongside the grief that will be with us forever.