Setting a Place for Grief at the Holiday Table

It’s been a year full of emotions, losses, and celebrations. There is much to be grateful for and for many of us, much to grieve. For the holidays, we honor it ALL.

This year, my Grammy is celebrating her last Christmas in the comfort of her home and in the care of her family and compassionate hospice workers. I will never know another soul like my Grammy; she is one of a kind. Some of my fondest memories of her are at church or sleeping over at her house and playing Rummy late at night. At church, she always kept a small bag of “pink things” in her purse – perhaps you know them as wintergreen candies. She would pass around the pink things to those of us in her pew. I remember it as though she were passing around little tastes of comfort. I loved receiving a little pink taste of love and comfort from my Grammy during the sermon. Now it is our turn – my family’s turn – to offer her as much comfort as we can as she transitions.

We all grieve differently, and I’ve been surprised and delighted to find myself baking to soothe my grief. My Grammy has made at least two applesauce cakes every Christmas, one as a gift to my mom and the other as a treat she enjoys and brings to Christmas dinner. Just a couple weeks ago, I attempted to make my Grammy’s applesauce cake for the first time ever. Then I talked with her about it in one of my visits to the hospital and listened to her share the inside scoop of what makes her cake stand out: She only uses black walnuts. She carefully chops the dates into small pieces and wipes down her knife so it doesn’t get too gummy. She tosses the raisins, dates, and nuts in flour so they incorporate into the batter evenly.

This week I’ve baked two more applesauce cakes, adhering closely to her expert tips. I’ve been chopping dates with great care, imagining that I am infusing each tiny piece with the love of my Grammy. I’ve stirred the caramel frosting on the stovetop and patiently waited for it to cool before beating in the powdered sugar. I gifted a cake to my mom and aunt and uncle who are caring for my Grammy now that she’s back home. I am comforted by the flavors and the connection I feel to her with each one I make.

 In my recent visits with her in the hospital, typically in the morning, I would ask how she rested the night before. She would always tell me she was visited by angels. It took me a moment to realize she was referring to the nurses that would come sit with her and help her be able to breathe when she struggled during the night. She would say, “They don’t have their wings yet, but they’re angels.” She was sad to say goodbye to those angels when she was transferred home yesterday. I brought homemade treats and a note to thank those angels on my last visit there.  

I thought I knew what my Grammy meant when she referred to the nurses as angels – they were compassionate, responsive, and kind to her in such vulnerable, frightening moments. They gave their time and loving presence to serve someone else in need of comfort, care, and reassurance. But I also wondered… at the end of life, is it possible my Grammy is able to perceive things differently than the rest of us? Just as a newborn baby has different perceptual abilities at birth, do we as humans perceive things differently as we approach death? Could she perceive the special nature of these nurses…that they have a unique soul signature?

There is definitely some kind of magic unfolding in these days leading up to Christmas. For many years, I sat in a Christmas Eve service with my Grammy listening to the song “O Holy Night” and passing the light of a candle as we all sang “Silent Night” to close the service. This year, I am holding her and my grief close in my heart.

Rumi’s beloved poem “The Guest House” describes welcoming our emotions as guests. They come and they go. We welcome them all – love, joy, grief and sorrow. This holiday season, make sure to set a place at the table for Grief.

May it come and go as it wishes.

May it inhabit our hearts when it chooses.

May it be accompanied by visits from Joy and Delight and Gratitude.  

Dear Grief,

You are welcome here. There is room at the Inn for you.

May you hold one another close as you welcome each guest this holiday season.