Christmas Candlelight Remembrance Service

My grief group facilitator often recommended that we press into the “active grief” moments. She called them “grief appointments.” Yesterday that is what I did and it felt so good to be sad.

Cornerstone of Hope hosts an annual Christmas remembrance candlelight service and I decided it would be part of my “plan” for how to survive the holidays. I invited my family to drive in from Pittsburgh but only Mel was able. That is until a 2nd doorbell rang and my Mom and sister Jaymie stood before me caroling. I cried.

We arrived and walked in. Walking in was strange because you knew that everyone you saw entering the building had lost someone. It was strangely comforting  but also kind of weird. I enjoyed being able to show my family where I spent 9 weeks with other grievers.

The service was beautiful! There was an opening prayer and then opening remarks from the Tripodi’s who started Cornerstone of Hope. Even on their 18th year of losing their son, Mark described the sadness and darkness he felt during the holidays, both year 1 and now and how it had changed over time.  I was glad to hear it changes, but sad to think about all the Christmases without Dad. He also spoke about the Light of Christ and how powerful a light can be.

As they called the names, the family members walked to the front and met the Tripodi family to receive your candle. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. So much collective sadness at the loss of such beautiful and meaningful lives. I didn’t expect to be so emotional but it was hard not to.

They called “John W. Macek” and up on the screen popped my Dad and Mom’s faces.  My Mom gasped and smiled. I had selected a photo with them both in it because I was intending to give the candle to my Mom.  So, with our bravest faces we walked to the front to once again confront the reality that Dad was really gone. We were hugged and loved on while Mom lit the candle. I carried it back to our seats and cried.

It felt so unbelievable nice to grieve together with this community and my family for this holiday season. I am eager to get this “first” over but don’t want to rush it. Dad loved loved loved Christmas. It was one of the major things I associated most with him.

All participants were asked to write a brief story or statement that was read as the family walked to the front. Here is what I wrote about Dad:

John was the husband of Karen, the father to 5 daughters and one son-in-law and grandfather to 2. His favorite holiday was Christmas as he loved to make it special and festive. As we enter this first Christmas season without him, we join in singing his favorite Christmas carol that “all is calm, all is bright” as we know we will see him again in glory. 

Advent

I have not spoken much of God in my grieving process here on this blog. Most of it has been reserved for my journal and honestly, because speaking of God as of late has become too hard.

Spiritually I feel adrift, drifting in the open sea. My faith is weaker than I thought it was. What was once a strong, braided cord now feels like a single thread, bare and torn, barely holding on.

Still holding on.

Advent seems right on time for me.

How long the Israelites waited in silence! Years and years. How some of them must have felt adrift and forgotten. Had God left them? Someone they knew so intimately. Where was He? Had he abandoned them? Where was He in their time of need? What else was He doing in the mean time? How were they supposed to wait?

What if He didn’t come? What if He did come, but wasn’t who He said He was gonna be?

This is where I am. I know Emmanuel means “God with us” but I don’t feel very God-with-me these days. The fear of reaching out to only touch nothing seems too unbearable. My soul longs for the reassurance of the Light, for the One who is coming to restore all things. But yet I can’t reach out. What if He doesn’t show up?

And so I wait, in the darkness.

Mashed Potatoes

A discussion in Room 208:

Me: Hey class, what are some of your favorite foods at Thanksgiving? 

S1: Mac and cheese

S2: My auntie’s baked beans. 

S3: Apple pie. 

S4: What about you Ms. Macek?

Me: I absolutely love mashed potatoes! They’re my favorite. My job, since I was little, is to make sure there are no lumps. My Dad makes them and I’m the tester! If there’s a lump I send it back for more mashing. 

S3: But Ms Macek, how’re you gonna do that this year? Without your Dad? 

(My heart melts. I smile.)

Me: You’re right, it’ll be different this year. Luckily, my Dad taught my sister how and she’ll be the masher.

Mary Jane

Mary Jane (Aunt Janie)

Aunt Janie

The waiting is over.

Our beloved Aunt Janie died last night, November 18th, at her home in Erie, PA. Her brother, his wife and three of her nieces visited yesterday which ended up being their final goodbyes this side of heaven.

My Aunt Janie bravely walked toward her death for 3.5 months. As I previously wrote, those actively walking toward death are the bravest people I know. She is now free of the pain and evil that is cancer.

She lived in Erie, Pa which means we did not see her more than a few times a year, mostly at Christmas. We visited her house once for an epic picnic that now boasts stories of a cousin running naked in the creek. When I was a freshmen in college, she came to Mercyhurst to pick me up and took me to a fall festival where we ate yummy treats and picked pumpkins.

I’ve come to learn that I am incredibly impacted by my olfactory senses. Aunt Janie had a very specific and very lovely smell. I think it was her perfume. She always, always smelled good. She also had the most radiant skin. I remember thinking she was one of the most beautiful women I knew. Her voice had a particular tone that is caught in my memory. The thing I can still hear most in my head, in her voice, is her calling my Dad’s name, “Oh, John!”

I’ll be honest, I feel exhausted to endure yet another family death and funeral. I am thinking we all are to be honest. But I, we, will show up for our family to honor her life and offer care and support. As a friend recently reflected “More than the right words, more than flowers, give your presence.” This is what community does. It shows up. I am so blessed to be part of a family that shows up.

Aunt Janie and her son.

Aunt Janie, Dad and Uncle Jerry Christmas 2015.

The Macek Family.

Aunt Janie encouraging my Dad, Christmas 2015.

First Snow

My Dad loved snow. Way back when AIM messenger was a thing his chat name was “let it snowlet it snow”. He loved that I went to college in the snow belt in Erie, Pennsylvania because it meant a lot of snow. 

Strangely, it even snowed, out of nowhere it seemed, on the day of his funeral. It was a beautiful, heavy snow that weighed down the branches of trees. We were sure it was a gift from God to comfort us. 

One thing I used to do often for the first snow was take a picture of it and send it to him. He always enjoyed it and told me to be careful.

So Dad, here’s a picture of this year’s first snow in Cleveland: 

Holiday’s for Sad People

The holidays are typically the most happy time of the year, which, in fact, is what makes them very uncomfortable for Sad People.

Our sadness is both magnified and silenced. We see everyone else being not just regular-happy but full-blown-HOLIDAY-happy, and we realize, in specific detail, what we are missing. A partner who will buy you that necklace you’ve been wanting. A Dad who can reach to put the star on top of the tree. A baby who will smile at the Christmas lights. That pain is sharp. It is biting. It will knock the breath right out of your lungs.

A Holiday Survival Guide for Sad People – Pinch of Yum 

The Beginning of the End

Two years ago … when it all began and had an end we never wanted … 

We Remember Them

At the rising of the sun and at its going down
We remember them.

At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter
We remember them.

At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring
We remember them.

At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer
We remember them.

At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn
We remember them.

At the beginning of the year and when it ends
We remember them.

As long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as
We remember them.

When we are weary and in need of strength
We remember them.

When we are lost and sick at heart
We remember them.

When we have joy we crave to share
We remember them.

When we have decisions that are difficult to make
We remember them.

When we have achievements that are based on theirs
We remember them.

As long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us
We remember them.

This was the poem we read together while standing outside, holding our balloons and notes of love for our loved one. Once the poem was read, we walked out into the grassy area and in our own time, released our balloon into the sky.

The part of the night that was most emotional for me was the writing of the note. We were invited to write a note of release (something we needed to get rid of or say to our loved one) or a note of what we could say to them right now.

I was struck in that moment with intense joy at the bags of balloons and the memories of playfulness from my Dad. So much of that moment felt joy-filled to me, not sad. That’s what I wanted to say to him – something happy and joyful and hopeful. And so I wrote and the tears came. Tears I could not stop.

This night was very special to me!

Expectations

I’ll be honest. This conversation happened during week 6 of our 9 week group but I have been hesitant to post for a variety of reasons. My intention in this post is to speak

Dad & I at my Mercyhurst Ambassador Club induction Spring 200

plainly about grief and my experience. I hope that you can hear my honesty in a grace-filled way. Grief is new to many of us and requires so much.                                                                                                                                                              The topic for this particular week was expectations and it produced a lot of feelings inside of me. One of the exercises we did to explore this idea was create 2 lists: 

 

1. Since my loved one died people expect me
2. Since my loved one died I expect people

Lots of people in the group were stuck and so the facilitator said, “What made you mad during your grief early on? Anger is the result of failed expectations.” Ugh.

In list 1, here were some common themes: People expected us …

• To be the one to bring it up
• To be the initiator of our support “Just tell me if you need something”
• To be done grieving sooner

In list 2, here were some common themes: We expected people to …

• In our closer communities to be more present without having to be asked, especially early on but not drift off  (many of us experienced a drop off in community presence)
• Not forget that it happened and remember important dates/holidays

The tricky thing with grief is that most of us are not equipped to deal with grief – neither the griever or their community. So that is working against us. Another aspect is that often times the griever does not know what they need, only that they need something. More often than not that need is the presence of a friend.

As I reflected personally on my own journey I realized two important things:

First, I was not good at truth-telling or more specifically asking for what I needed. I expected others to just show up. There is a a piece of this that is legit though – people should have known to check in on me by phone calls or texts, come over just to be and bring me dinner etc.  without needing me to ask because that’s what friends do in trials. However, part of it is on me. I did not speak up and ask for what I needed and I take ownership of that. This has been a challenge for me for most of my adult life. (I’m still figuring out why.)

Secondly, I was convicted by the ways I have expected my family to grieve like me and in the same progression. This is incredibly unhelpful. After this session I called a family member and apologized. I felt like I had forced her to grieve faster or at least be closer to where I was and to express it like me. Yikes. Since then I have tried to be mindful of not putting my grieving expectations on my family members.

Expectations can be hard. I have learned now to better manage mine and help assist others in caring for me by giving them support (giving specific questions to ask me about me or my Dad, giving permission to bring up my Dad’s death, setting up certain times to hang out, debriefing specific events etc.). My hope is that this enables people to feel more competent in their care for grieving friends.

(Below is another resource about what expectations grievers can have for themselves.)