Holiday Triggers After Divorce:

Decorations and Grief Wrapped Up With a Bow

It’s been over three years now since “I do” turned into “Nope. Done.” (Betcha you thought I would write, “I don’t”, right?) Because the emotional holiday triggers aren’t enough, this was also the season when we got married, precisely one week before the big guy chimney dives.

We would have done well to heed the advice of the wise who encouraged us not to have a holiday wedding as it would compete with, uh, the business and expense of the holidays. But when you’re young and in lust love, timing is of the essence. And besides, the church was already decorated, so it provided double duty and one less expense to cover on our meager budget.

Nor did I realize that now, as a divorced woman, this adds to the melancholy of the season. There are still waves of mourning as I pick through the one remaining box of decorations in my possession. I trace my finger over the kids’ Christmas stockings as my mind drifts to happier times.

I carefully remove the tattered construction paper ornaments made in preschool. They are more precious to me than the most bedazzling tree bling. As careful as I am with storing these, I note the unavoidable deterioration that comes with age, so my moment of happy reverie is tempered by the reality that time does indeed march on, like it or not.

And so were my expectations once upon a time. Only these marched off the divorce cliff, never to be seen from again. Expectations for growing old together, bustling family reunions around Norman Rockwell table settings, and all the other Disneyfied expectations modern culture grooms us for.

In my box of decorations, expectations have been replaced with grief.

My morose musings are interrupted by a reminder to do the what would’va been math. (Let’s see, 2024–1988=36.) It would’va been 36 years for us. A Christmas season wedding was a shitty idea. Especially when the divorce was finalized so close to the anniversary. Instead, I now mark my 3rd Unniversary.

Then there comes a point where it’s time to put the lid back on the box and focus my thoughts on the present moment and the things for which I’m grateful. This includes Tom, a partner who brings me much joy and loves me deeply, being cancer free, three wonderful adult children, and a circle of other family members and friends that make me feel like the richest woman in the world.

It also allows me to re-envision a new future, as opposed to creating one of expectations. Life has truly hammered home the lesson that expectations are disappointments waiting to happen. Occasionally, I can still catch glimpses of the smoke rising from what was once the burning ruins of previously held illusions/delusions that life “should” go a certain way and people “should” act in a particular way.

My process for re-envisioning a new future has plenty of room for my shit happens conviction. Gone is the naivete that life should go swimmingly at all times and if it isn’t, I must have a character defect or a lack of faith.

While doing my social media perusal this morning, I happened upon a photo someone posted of their Christmas tree. Only it wasn’t a tree. It was a cross made of tree boughs.

My first reaction was to gag a bit as the use of a cross for decoration strikes me as a little macabre. I mean, if Jesus had been executed by an electric chair or the needle of oblivion, would we use those symbols in churches or on jewelry? It would certainly make for a more challenging Tannenbaum display. Hypodermic on a chain, anyone?

It was the same reaction I had the other day when I saw a guy wearing a rhinestone studded cross big enough to choke a mule. Eeeew. Homing beacon to other believers? A decommissioned lighthouse prism? Fashion statement? Whatevs. It’s none of my damn business. Beauty is in the beholder’s eye, right? And besides, there I go judging again. Especially when it shines a light on my own hypocrisies. Rut roh.

I remembered the cross necklace I have hanging with the few other necklaces I own. And no, it lacks any sparkle. It’s on a simple cord with a small, hand carved wooden cross. (And it was guaranteed for three months from the date of purchase! Wooohooo!)

I wore it underneath my shirt during the year of breast cancer treatment. It wasn’t a “declaration of faith” statement to share with the world. It served as a reminder of how I have come to regard the cross and its meaning to me, which differs greatly from mainstream views of the cross.

Because Jesus was executed by crucifixion, the cross is a revered symbol for many Christians as it represents the price Christ paid for our sins and, hence, reconciliation with God.

Well, recounting my path of deconstruction to my present “ex-vangelical” status is for another time. But the thumbnail is this. I no longer consider the cross to represent a transaction to balance out the books on man’s so-called sinfulness. No, my theology got a major do-over (that’s spelled h-e-r-e-s-y by most Christians.)

I find much deeper meaning in the cross thanks to the teachings of Franciscan priest, Richard Rohr. And it bears little resemblance to a transactional God who allows his son to be murdered to redeem his asshole kids.

Instead, this humble friar explains how great love and great suffering are conjoined in the heart; you can’t have one without the other. Two sides of the same coin. Or the opposite ends of a cross.

One side-great love. The other-great suffering. And then there is the tension between the two, upon which the liminal space of our brief time of this human experience is hung. It is this same space we cannot rationalize with our human brains. Especially when we are taught that suffering shows you’ve done something wrong. Or that suffering is baaaaaaad and here! If you just buy this product or service, all will be right again. Uh, nope. If only it were that simple.

Jesus’ death on the cross points to the tension of maintaining such opposites. But bubble gum religion and pop psychology have rendered us unable to hold such a paradox.

If you love deeply, you will suffer. It’s not an either/or. It’s a both/and. And in the end, love will always triumph over pain and suffering.

And this is why I wore that cross throughout a year of deep suffering and loss. Because it reminded me, I WOULD get through it. Joy and love were still present, but I sure as hell needed frequent reminders.

Which brings me back to the holidays, grief triggers and re-imagining the future. What I have learned and continue to learn is this. It is okay to embrace the suffering. There is no timeline on grief, either. It’s all part of our human experience and if we allow it to, the times of suffering can bring tremendous transformation.

My heart was shattered, but those fractures opened space for more love and grace to expand my heart. Or to quote Leonard Cohen, There is a crack, a crack, in everything. That’s how the light gets in.

To resist suffering is to resist love.

I’m sure there will be yet more tears as I string up a few lights and wish myself a Happy Unniversary. But it will be tempered by my newfound joys, Tom, and a hopeful future yet written, because I am learning that no matter the difficulties or grief, love will sustain me. I hold it all with open hands.

Great love. Great Suffering. Wrapped up in a Christmas bow.

Thank you for reading and sharing. Please share with anyone you know who may find this helpful. Care to support my work? You can click here. Tips are not expected but deeply appreciated!

Grab a free subscription to my Substack Newsletter, Decluttering ADHD.

Interested in working with me for life coaching or spiritual direction? I would love to hear from you! Click here.