Slow Down Where it Hurts: Grief and the Twelve Days of Christmas

Thirteen years ago this year, on December 23rd, I made last-minute plans to fly home to Upstate NY on the busiest travel day of the year. One leg of my flight canceled. I got rerouted through LGA. I had to run between multiple gates and got on the tiniest plane in a tremendous winter storm. There were maybe thirty seats on the whole plane.I spent the entire flight relatively sure I was going to die.

I got off of the plane in Syracuse, NY. As I exited security, my cousin’s tiny toddler (having just turned one) toddled around the corner to meet me. I promptly burst into tears. My cousin spoke the words I already knew: “it won’t be long.” As the rest of the world reunited with family to celebrate Christmas, my beloved grandmother lay dying in a hospital bed about an hour from the airport. The next day, I would kiss her forehead, thank her for all she was to me, say goodbye, and wait for the call that she had slipped quietly to be with my grandfather. It was only hours.

My family sometimes struggles to talk about our feelings. It’s not always our strong suit. But one thing we know how to do VERY well is gather. We don’t need to know what to say to hug each other, eat food together, and be reminded that for a moment the fact we love each other is what matters most. While the hustle and bustle of Christmas raged on in the rest of the world, we gathered. We…