Alone, Again. Christmas Grief.

There is a burden of grief that hangs on my heart this holiday season. I feel it everywhere. It’s in the grocery store as I go down the aisle, I feel it on the streets, I sense it in the air around me. It’s almost palpable. A tension, a fear, a sadness, worry.  I look into the face of a friend and I feel it’s heaviness as he faces a Christmas alone. I hear it in the voice of another who isn’t so sure what her Christmas will be like this year.

The pandemic had its own horrors and grief as we were all forced into isolation. Many of us sat alone, unable to see and hug our own family, our own friends. Many of our loved ones died, quarantined in hospitals or nursing homes and we were not allowed to say our goodbyes in person. Funerals became small and private or not at all, with only a public announcement in social media for most family and friends. We all faced that collective misery together but at least we were all facing it the same. As the saying goes, “Misery loves company.”

Now the pandemic has eased its stranglehold and things have opened up. People are gathering as groups again for inside events. Plans are being made for traditional Christmas celebrations and there is joy and excitement at the thoughts of gathering together once again after two years of “bubbles” and masks.

But there are those that are still isolated and alone as others ramp up their joy and holiday plans. Some still are faced with their solitude and absence. For those, life has not returned with its business and plans. And they grieve. And this year, I feel the grief has doubled because of what we have been denied the last two years. The pandemic has intensified it. Being alone becomes loneliness.

Let us remember those for who Christmas will not be noisy and joyful and full of people. Make that phone call. Drop off that unexpected present. Visit for a short time. Bring over that plate of turkey and stuffing. Share a moment. Share the joy.

Merry Christmas to all.

A Perfect Day

I opened my eyes, adjusting to the morning light streaming through the crack in the curtains. Byron, my daughter’s dog, had decided to sleep with me last night and once he realized I was awake, he covered my face with kisses in anticipation of a morning walk. He waited patiently while I dressed and we quietly stepped outside onto the back lawn with its cloak of morning dew. Spring flowers were bursting, birds were singing.

Back inside, I started the morning coffee, turned on the computer, and then stuck my head in to see if my daughter and grandson were awake. There they were, in the middle of a morning feed, throwing smiles and kisses my way. Within a few minutes, my daughter brought my little grandson, just nine weeks old, out for morning cuddles while she slept a little longer.

He watched me as I finished my morning writing and emails, those bright Wedgewood Blue eyes not missing a beat. As our gaze caught, his big smile filled my heart.

Maegan woke up and after another bit of visiting, she left for a good long run with the dog along the river trails. My little guy and I had more cuddle and smile time. Holding a little baby in your arms is a precious thing.

When she and the dog returned, a bountiful breakfast and good conversation made for an easy-paced morning. Before I knew it, they had to go to head off for an appointment later in the day.

As I waved goodbye, I said a quiet prayer of gratitude for the love of my daughter, her little guy, and her beloved pet.

I got some computer work finished, notices, letters of thanks, and future appointments and retreated out to the back patio with my book and a warm cup of tea for the rest of the afternoon. The sky was blissfully blue, the birds were still singing, butterflies were dancing and a gentle breeze kept me cool in the warming sun.

Barb Heagy Spring 2015 013-001

Ah . . . this day couldn’t be better. Simple pleasures of shared family love, good food, good conversation, sunshine, spring flowers, butterflies and birds are all I need in my life. At least for this day. This perfect gem of a day.