What I have learnt over recent years, where I have lost several people I love, is that grief is one of the most complex of emotions you can experience.
It is not linear, it comes and goes sometimes in waves like the tide coming in and out, other times like the drip of a tap that hasn’t quite been turned off all of the way. It is deeply personal, and it is unique to everyone who feels it. There is no right and wrong and it can change from one day to the next.
Grief can also be felt more acutely at sometimes than at others. It might be at the anniversary of the person’s death, birthdays, special occasions and celebrations, a season, a month or an event. For me, I most feel the loss of my aunty Rosemary at Christmas.
Rosemary was diagnosed with lung cancer which had already spread to her brain and other parts of her body on Valentines Day 2019. Despite chemotherapy, immunotherapy and surgery the cancer spread rapidly, she died right in the crux of the COVID-19 pandemic and its lockdowns, in April 2020.
I was incredibly close with my aunt, she had no children of her own, I was an only child with a single mum, so she was often like another parent as I grew up. She came to all of my sports days, concerts, graduations and birthdays and then when I had kids of my own, she attended theirs too.
She came to all of my sports days, concerts, graduations and birthdays and then when I had kids of my own, she attended theirs too.
Other than two Christmases when I was overseas, I celebrated Christmas Day with her from when I was born until her last one in 2019.
That was 32 Christmases with Rosemary sitting at the same lunch table, bringing her famous turkey and her tomato and fetta dip for us to feast on, and as I got older, it was sharing a bottle of champagne with me over the course of the day. Most significantly, it was 32 years of memories.
As last year’s Christmas was approaching, the first without her, the usual festivity I felt about my favourite time of year wasn’t as pronounced within in me. I felt low, I wasn’t remotely enthusiastic about decorating the Christmas tree with my girls, or as I did my Christmas shopping. I wasn’t even signing along to Mariah’s ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ in the car, but I couldn’t pinpoint why.
Then one weekend as I thought about how many guests were coming for Christmas lunch it hit me. It was Rosemary. That was why that normal inherent seasonal joy was absent, that’s why something felt off. The reason I felt as if something was missing was because there was - my aunty.
Then one weekend as I thought about how many guests were coming for Christmas lunch it hit me. It was Rosemary.
With the ache of missing someone who has died, I spoke to others about how I was feeling. I chatted with friends and other family, those who had lost parents, children, siblings, partners, some their beloved pets. While all their insight was unique, what was shared by all of them was this feeling of something ‘missing’ and also that they nearly all did something about it.
One friend told me that they light a candle for the person which stays lit over the course of the day.
“They are still a light in our lives and although physically it has gone out, on Christmas it is lit again through the flame and so are they through spirit.”
While all their insight was unique, what was shared by all of them was this feeling of something ‘missing’ and also that they nearly all did something about it.
Another said they make sure they still cook and eat their loved one’s favourite meal on Christmas Day because the food was a highlight for their loved one.
“Dad loved prawns. He would eat kilos of them if you let him and often did at Christmas. Now, each Christmas we ensure there are always still a bowl of them to enjoy even though no one appreciates them quite as much as he did,” said a friend.
As I listened to them tell me about these tributes, I realised that this was something I knew I needed to do too but in a way that would best suit Rosemary.
So, at our table last Christmas and what will be on our table every Christmas, is a place setting for her. There is an empty chair and in front of it a bon-bon, a tacky paper Christmas plate and matching serviette, cutlery and of course a champagne glass with enough champagne for a Christmas toast.
While it was at first a bit confronting to see the space for her but not her in it, it quickly instigated conversation about Rosemary, our memories of her and a toast was made in her honour.
For my family and I we were able to commemorate a significant person in our lives on a day that she always loved and in a way that was perfectly Rosemary.
