The Holidays are here: Reflections on Grief.

Grieving people are often wholly misunderstood, even by friends and family members.  And when holidays come around, that misunderstanding tends to become magnified tenfold, if not hundred-fold . . . simply put, oft-times the “advice” you get from the well-meaning is not worth the time to listen to it.

A case in point being the saying, “You need to move on” from your grief.

Move on to what, exactly?

I mean, here I am — I loved my husband with all my soul and all my strength, and I still love him to this day.  I will always love him, and I don’t see anything wrong with that — the only difference between me and another grieving widow is that it’s been six years and three months (plus a day) since my husband died, and by this time most widows don’t say anything about how much they still miss their husbands.  (Widowers, either, about their wives.)

Well, I’m tired of that unwritten rule, and here’s why.

When you love someone, you tell them.  Often.  You do good things for them.  Often.  You let others know that you care about your loved ones, as often as you can get away with it, and without pushing your relationship in someone else’s face, you do whatever you can to keep that relationship alive — a living, breathing thing.  And everyone understands that, so long as your spouse, or your family member, or your friend, or even your beloved pet, is still alive.

But once that person (or pet) is dead, all bets are off.  Suddenly, you’re not supposed to talk about the person any more, because he or she is dead.  Even though you love him or her  just as much as you did yesterday, and you appreciate his or her presence in your life for as long as he or she was able to stay, you’re now supposed to say nothing because “it’s not done.”

In fact, as a widow or widower, you’re supposed to take your wedding ring off, and prepare to date someone else, or there’s something wrong with you.  (Like Hell there is, but that’s another issue entirely.)

So now, you’re not only not supposed to talk about the person you love so much, but you’re also supposed to surrender your most prized possession — your wedding ring — because “it’s not done” to keep wearing it.

I have news for anyone who thinks this way: you are being ridiculous. 

I can’t make your decisions for you about how you grieve, nor whether you date again, nor how soon you date again, or anything else, because that’s all up to you.  (As it should be.)  But I categorically refuse to let anyone make my decisions for me.

My husband Michael was the most important, most valuable person in my entire life.  Bar none.  I refuse to stop talking about him — about his influence on me as a writer.  As a person.  As an editor.  As anything — because what we had together was priceless.  Invaluable.  And well worth remembering and honoring.

Holidays are extremely difficult.  I miss my husband with every breath I take.   And I want him back . . . oh, how I want him back.

But all I can do is continue on.  Keep trying.  Keep creating.  Keep his work alive, along with my own, and of course along with anything we started together.

Holidays, to me at least, are not entirely about spending time with family, though I do a good bit of that.  And they aren’t all about gift-giving (financially, that’s out), though I do think a great deal about those less fortunate than me and pray for the best outcomes possible.

No.

Holidays, to me, are about remembrance.  Are about love.  Are about honor, and shared sacrifice, and about dreams becoming the truth — because, you see, Michael and I made our commitments to each other around this time eight years ago today.

And I would never, ever, wish to “move on” from remembering that.