Holiday Meltdown
After a social gathering that usually brings me peace and joy, I had a holiday meltdown. A bona fide, unadulterated, crying jag spent pacing the floor for two hours. I was home alone and could see no way to get through the tumult.
For 35 years I had a partner who could—and would—prop me up come hell or high water, but he died nearly three years ago. And although I have been making my own way in the world, I suddenly couldn’t bear to be without him.
Widowhood is not for sissies. Not even years after the fact. We might look like we’re “over it,” but we’ve just learned to compensate. And our compensatory maneuvers are not 100 percent reliable.
I’m not one for calling people on the phone. Partly because I’m hearing impaired. Partly because I’m an introvert. And partly because I know how I sometimes react when the phone rings and I’m in the middle of something. I don’t want to interrupt somebody else’s day.
But after a couple hours of weeping and pacing, I knew this tumultuous event wasn’t going to pass of its own accord. I’d become irrational in my grief. Without anchor. Adrift in a violent sea of tears and foreboding.
I needed to call one of the women from Eureka’s support group for widows and widowers. After all, the whole point of the group was to provide support in time of need. I looked up a phone number and stared at it for a while. Afraid of what might—or might not—happen if I actually made the call.
But I did it. And the woman on the other end donned her shoes and hurried over. A rapidly mobile—but steady— port in the storm.
Just knowing she was on the way eased my angst a little. Her arrival inspired a surge of sobbing, which served to release the remaining pressure within my sorrow-wracked ribcage. We sat on the sofa, and this woman helped me navigate my soul to calmer waters.
While we were talking, my lifeguard got a call from another widow in need. Before long, the three of us were strolling the twilight streets of Eureka Springs together. None of our talk brought our spouses back or made the holidays go away, but the thread of communal understanding and the act of being together eased the turmoil of the moment.
When I returned home, I roasted some Brussels sprouts and tuned in an episode of The Crown to keep me company while I ate dinner. Here’s what I remember from the show: As an elder member of the royal family is trying to comfort a younger relative who has recently lost a child, he says, “… a long time ago, I lost my favorite sister. … I learned then what grief was. True grief. How it moves through the body. How it inhabits it. How it becomes part of your skin. Your cells. And it makes a home there. A permanent home. But you learn to live with it. And you will be happy again. Though never in the same way as before. But that’s the point. To keep finding new ways.”
Sometimes the “new ways” elude us. That, I’ve learned, is why we have support groups.
If you know somebody who has lost their partner, whether last month, last year, or five years ago, please keep in mind that their sense of balance might sometimes be off kilter, especially during holiday seasons. If you perceive they’ve somehow slighted you, consider they might just be fending off a Holiday Meltdown. No malice intended.