For years, I have maintained an ever-growing playlist of Christmas music that serves as my own personal soundtrack during the holiday season. I used to have a strict rule against listening to any Christmas music before Thanksgiving. However, in 2020 I started listening to my Christmas playlist in early November. That year had been so horrible that I let myself have an early taste of Christmas cheer.
Even so, a large portion of my Christmas playlist is not very merry. Many are tinged with melancholy. Others are just plain sad. These are the songs that I am drawn to in order to get myself into the Christmas spirit.
Christmas is my favorite holiday, but as I get older my feelings about the season become more complicated. The Christmases of my childhood were magical, filled with joy and wonder. Christmas as an adult is often stressful. We are told it’s the “most wonderful time of the year.” As soon as happiness is a mandate, I can’t help but think about all the ways I am not.
That is why I love the sad Christmas songs. The songs in minor keys, the ones that are moodier and less jingle jangly are a better reflection of my emotions at this time of year. They give me permission to feel all my feelings.
We all have suffered and struggled this year. Christmas celebrations and traditions can serve as a painful reminder of what we’ve lost. Even as we feel grief, we may also feel joy. It’s the tinge of pain I feel when laughing with my girlfriends because I miss our one friend who died too young.
Recently, “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day” popped up in my playlist. It’s not one of the more popular Christmas carols. I never really paid attention to the later verses of the song. I was surprised by how the cheeriness first verse gives way to much more mournful lyrics:
And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"
It’s a line that feels like it could have been written today.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote those words on Christmas Day in 1863. He was reacting to the death of his wife and the upheaval of the Civil War. Like him, we have been touched by both the chaos of the world and our own personal misfortunes. We have much to grieve this year, as we do every year. Just because it’s Christmas doesn’t mean that our grief magically goes away. We may be tempted to fake it and put on a happy face because it’s what others expect from us, but grief abides whether we acknowledge it or not. It has a funny way of taking up space if we don’t make space for it.
Since we cannot deny our grief, we may as well go through it. We must grieve the things and people we have lost. We must grieve our wounds and our scars. We must grieve our dreams and plans that have withered and died despite our best attempts to keep them alive.
So, just in case no one else in your life will say it, I am giving you permission to grieve this Christmas season. You do not need to pretend that you are not grieving just to make somebody else comfortable. You do not need to uphold any false narratives. You can hold grief in one hand and joy in the other if that is what you feel.
I will resist the urge to conclude here with a jolly benediction or even words of hope. I want to hold space for your grief. Let’s not rush it. Joy and hope and peace will always be there, and will always be a part of the Advent season. It is a season for waiting. Joy and hope and peace will wait for you when you’re ready, on the other side of grief.
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Writer Bio:
Judy Campbell-Smith is the author of AJ’s Neighborhood, a picture book coming out in 2022. She has been published on TheWitnessBCC.com and is a member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. You can discover more from Judy through her website, www.judycampbellsmith.com.
Twitter: @j_campbellsmith
Instagram: @judycambellsmith
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