machado: sad for the holidays: how to light up the dark
it can feel awkward to spread cheer and hope to those who are sad. but awkward doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.
6 minute read
the holidays are the saddest time of the year for many. getty
the holidays have always brought me down.
in my work running a cancer organization supporting people with leukemia, and as someone living with cancer, the holidays can be a mess of emotions that threaten to take you down in a serious way. maybe it’s mourning the loss of a special someone, or fear that a disease may not be treatable, or uncertainty that maybe you won’t be around to see another holiday. there’s something about this time of year that brings to the surface everything you have been working so hard to suppress. and frankly, i am not a fan.
add a deadly virus into the mix and, well, you can’t help doubting you are ever going to make it through in one piece.
the thing is, people in crisis spend the year keeping their heads up, hoping for the best, trying to look forward in a way that’s meaningful. there are days when simply picking up a toothbrush feels monumental. then there are the lighter-hearted times – which you hope come often – when you feel like you are finally moving forward, even if it’s just a little bit. then, the holidays arrive and suddenly everything goes sideways.
if you have someone in your life who fits into any of these categories, spreading cheer can be awkward and weird, especially if you are one of those holiday-loving, wear-a-santa-hat-in-public kind of people who expect everyone else to be high on the holidays. but awkward and weird doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. in fact, you absolutely must try.
for the one who has lost someone
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many people will be missing someone this holiday season. while it’s instinctual to avoid what makes people sad – tears can be scary – it can be nice to take a moment to share memories. in my family, we make it a point to tell funny stories about my dad who passed away a couple of years ago after a brutal bout with dementia. yes, it gets emotional, but it accomplishes a whole load of feel-good things. first, it acknowledges my mom’s grief. so instead of stepping outside to “check the lights” ten times when the emotions get overwhelming — this year, it will be stepping away from the computer screen — because she doesn’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable, we give her a safe space to feel sad and be supported. sharing memories also keeps him alive for my kids in a way that’s light and hopefully joyful, while for me making him feel close and weirdly, as if he is part of the occasion.
one of the most touching gifts i received the first christmas after my dad passed away was from a work colleague was a beautiful poinsettia. but it was the card that touched me the most. it simply said, “i know you are missing someone special this christmas. you are in my thoughts.” (gulp)
for the one who is dealing with an illness
illness can make the joy of the holidays, well, not joyous at all. if you are in pain, or just feeling horrible, the last thing you want to do is party with shiny happy people. fair enough. so what’s a loved one to do? put on a funny movie, light a nice smelling candle or read the paper out loud. if you aren’t in the same household, a phone call with a joke or to retell a giggle-worthy memory can go far to bring some light to an otherwise dreary day. my mother really likes those funny animal memes . pack away expectations and just show up, because, let’s be real, this time it’s not about you.
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a neighbour of mine has been caring for her mom who has terminal brain cancer. she started the holidays off by decorating her mom’s room — with a mask, of course — with lights and festive ornaments. while this made my friend very happy, it turned out the holiday vibe was lost on her mom, who finally ‘fessed up that all the jolly was actually bringing her down.
admittedly, there are times when there is nothing that can be said or done to take someone’s pain away — even for a moment. my little brother — okay, he’s 45 — just read the results of a scan to check the status of liver cancer which came back with a vengeance earlier this year, after five years of remission. i had been hoping he wouldn’t check the online portal before christmas so that he could maybe enjoy a bit of respite from the worry. when he called to tell me that the report was in, i could hear the tears in his voice. it seems there are more tumours, despite radiation and the targeted chemo medication he has been taking for a few months. when he said things like, “i don’t think i have much time left,” “i am losing to this thing,” i couldn’t help myself, i offered meaningless phrases like, “it’s not over yet,” “let’s not jump to conclusions until we meet with the doctor,” and “cancer better watch out for the machados,” which earned me a text minutes later: “i can always count on you to find the rainbows in the clouds. love you.”
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so i wasn’t incredibly helpful — what he really needed was for me to hear his fear. i’ll do better next time.
for the survivor
celebrate, celebrate, celebrate. this can get complicated, but the bottom line is bring the cheer. don’t be the one to talk memories (“remember when you lost all of your hair?”). talk about the future, but also make room for fear and worry. people who have faced a life-threatening illness, that breathtaking feeling of death being a real possibility, the crushing possibility of leaving children, will forever worry in big and small ways that they will face it again. this is sometimes complicated by ‘survivor’s guilt’ as they question why they were the ones to live, when someone else didn’t. these are hard conversations to have, after all, who wants to talk gloom and doom in the middle of the festive season? i get it, but the survivor gets the floor in this case. acknowledge the fear, but celebrate the life as well.
this christmas will be different, but in many ways the same. while i won’t be sitting down in-person with my mom and brother for a lavish guyanese dinner with all the family favourites like pepperpot and black cake — we’ll be connecting online (although my kids and i are planning some secret santa porch drop-offs) — and like every year, there will be that moment my emotions collide. it’ll be sometime between me stressing about the glitchy wifi, my kids showing my my mom how to get her face on screen instead of her chin and my brother rolling his eyes in frustration. i will feel the absence of my dad twist in my gut, a shiver of gratitude that i am alive to see the beautiful faces of my kids for another christmas and warm appreciation when i hear my brother’s laugh.
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and then, well, it will be all about the enjoying the moment. this year has been wild and awful, and i know i am not alone when i say 2021 better be damn amazing. after all, there’s nowhere to go but forward.
happy holidays, and here’s to a new year full of good news.
lisa machado is the executive producer of healthing.ca.
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