Grief in the Glow: Navigating the Holidays Through Loss and Remembrance
In the sterile silence of his hospital room in the palliative care ward, I stood beside Bayee, Jim, his presence hanging between this world and the next. He spent the holidays here, and now, approaching mid-January 2011, he lay in a coma. The festive lights and songs of December had faded, but the weight of the holiday season lingered, its shadow extending into the new year as we grappled with the impending loss. Each moistening of his parched lips with a sponge was a whispered conversation of love, an unspoken prayer for relief. This intimate act contrasted sharply with the world’s celebratory mood during this time of year.
Jim’s life, rich with dreams and laughter, began long before the hushed hospital room. It was a life filled with love: for the rugged beauty of South Lebanon, for the Canadiana in the Rockies, and for the family he cherished in the new world and old. As I wrote in my book, “From the moment that young man landed in his adopted homeland, he fell in love,” not just with the place but with the life he built here. Yet, the diagnosis of terminal cancer came as a silent thief, stealing the soul from his world and signalling the beginning of the end.
As the holidays draw near, I reflect not just on the loss of my father but on the profound shifts in what life once was, a feeling all too familiar for those who have watched a loved one fade away.
This personal grief resonates with a more universal sorrow. While mourning my father, I am acutely aware of the innocent civilians in Gaza mourning their own losses. The children who will never have another Christmas, the parents who will never see a new year. Their experiences, though what seems a world away, remind us that grief knows no borders. It is a shared condition, magnified during the holidays, when the absence of peace feels most acute and the longing for a world that once made sense becomes more aware. It’s not just about missing someone; it’s about missing what life should be like, grieving for a world we no longer recognize.
Yet, within this deep well of sorrow, the holiday season still carries an undercurrent of reflection and memory. It reminds us that, even in the face of profound loss, there’s a complexity to our emotions. We remember the warmth of memories, the laughter shared, and the love that endures. “Death is the ultimate harbinger of life,” my father’s story teaches us. His passing, and the rituals that followed — from the snowy streets of Edmonton to his ancestral village, Chouaya, in Lebanon — were not just an end but a testament to a life well-lived, a reminder of the impact one life can have.
Growing up, the holidays were among my favourite times of the year. We lived in a bubble of sorts, a Lebanese Druze family living in Smoky Lake. It was my parents and two siblings, my uncle Ed’s family, and my uncle Sam’s family, along with close cousins and relatives that would join us with their families some years. Along with my cousin Joe, his wife, and kid, there were usually 20 of us in total. For years on end, as little kids to teenagers, we gathered on Christmas Day at the Red Chimney in Smoky Lake, where we grew up. We would dress up in fancy clothes, have steak and lobster dinners (steak and lobster! A testament to our parents appreciation of how special the holiday season should be), and enjoy each other’s company.
What great memories. We didn’t grow up in the Christian tradition; we didn’t go to church, but we celebrated Christmas nonetheless. The holidays were a time of joy with a sense of togetherness, enjoying the little things life has to offer. It was a time I knew the business would be closed for a few days, so I would have my parents to myself, along with my cousins, and we would feast like kings and royalty, even if we really weren’t at all. We revelled in love and the feeling of peace. The true spirit of Christmas.
Now, decades later, with children of my own, I find myself trying to shelter them, to give them the same sense of community, joy, and love that I felt during the holidays as a young person. This year, I’m tempted to just be angry, sad, pissed off, and defeated. It’s hard for me to turn my heart off, knowing that in some parts of the world, particularly the unprecedented devastation of Gaza, there will be no Christmas. 10,000 kids (as of this moment) have been erased, their innocence extinguished by a hell rained down from above, through no fault of their own, except being born there.
After the experiences of life, I grew up to realize how important having a family or community is, especially around the holidays. Some of our homes will be filled with joy and laughter. Other homes will be filled with loneliness, sorrow, and grief, especially if someone has passed during the holidays or their absence is felt across time. And yet, a world away, there is no time for celebrating the essence of what the holiday season brings to so many people, Christian or not. Some have lost their entire families, generations wiped out from indiscriminate bombing, in Gaza.
As the holiday season unfolds, with its festive lights and joyful songs, I find myself deeply immersed in the contrasting emotions that define this time of year. This season feels especially hard, a blend of joy and global sorrow, community and personal solitude. There will be no Christmas in Gaza. These reflections on personal experiences, like the warmth of our family gatherings in Smoky Lake, remind me that our shared humanity connects us, transcending geographical and cultural divides.
It’s important to remember that, just as there are homes filled with laughter, there are also those engulfed in silence. Embracing all these realities helps us find a deeper connection to the season’s true meaning. As we move through these holidays, let’s allow ourselves to fully experience its many facets – the joy, the loneliness, and even the sorrow of a world in conflict. By doing so, we honour not only our individual journeys but also the collective human experience, finding a more authentic connection to what the season truly represents.
As I lay in the stillness of night, memories of my father flood in with the cold. His laughter, his wisdom, his undying love. Grief, I’ve learned, is not a solitary journey but a shared experience, woven into the fabric of our human existence. This holiday season, as we walk this path, let us find solace in the company of those who understand, comfort in the continuity of life, and acknowledgment in the complexity of our feelings.
In remembering those we’ve lost, we’re not masking the pain or the rawness of our wounds, but rather, we’re giving testament to the love we continue to hold, the stories we continue to tell, and the complex, often bittersweet nature of human life and memory.
Thank you for reading.
