grief
Hallmarked Homecomings
In my browsing of random Tumblrs that I keep track of from my Nuzlocke days (which is another story for another day), I came across this comic about the plotline of every Christmas movie ever. The only parts it misses is the obligatory activities of ice skating and cookie decorating while a quartet of carolers awkward sings in the village square. My friend Ana sent me this joke tweet about an AI writing a Hallmark movie script (in the interest of full disclosure, an AI did not write this. If you want to learn more about AIs, talk to me, who now has a rudimentary knowledge of them). I see Christmas movies as the foremost reason why we shouldn’t get so caught up in being the most creative and the most original storyweavers: we as consumers go back to the same storyline again and again as long as they make us feel good. I also see them as one of the signs of the Christmas season in the Johnson household.
My mom loved Christmas movies. She would set up our TiVo months in advance in order to tape all the new movies, and from the moment I would get home from college, there would be one playing in the living room. She loved to predict the actions of people in winter wonderlands and laughed as they followed the well-worn grooves of falling-in-love plotlines. Most of the time we wouldn’t even watch them that closely—they’d play in the background while I wasted away my time (on aforementioned Tumblrs—a habitat that I’m dying to break) and she tittered away on professional development twitter or emails. She was working even when she wasn’t.
There were days last year when we watched three to four movies, only breaking for snacks and when Dad would get home (and often times we’d just continue watching with him). As of December 22nd, I’m watching my second Christmas movie. Mom would be appalled.
Last Sunday as we were exchanging farewells, Pastor Sean said, “Going home is going to suck, but you are going to get through it.” I was a little put out honestly. I had told every person who had asked me how I was feeling about going home that I was really excited to see my family, and I was. I was confused to why this pastor who knows me a good amount (but not a crazy in-depth amount) would say something like that to me. On Tuesday when I put my suitcase in the house and left to get the rest of my stuff in the car, I started to cry and I remembered what Pastor Sean had said to me. It did kind of suck.
I thought this homestay would be the same as coming home for the memorial service, but this time there were still jobs that were related to Mom but also more jobs that were basically rewriting the traditions we had staunchly printed in our lives—decorating the tree, making dentist and hair appointments, making family calendar, buying presents, watching a boatload of Christmas movies—and reworking those traditions have been hard. I cried telling my hairdresser today that actually I wasn’t doing great because my mom passed away almost two months ago and this was the first time I walked into a salon without her. I’ve been able to hang out with my friends like I usually do and see some more family friends, but there’s a voice in the back of my head that reminds me that perhaps less people would want to see me if Mom was still here. It’s been busy, even too busy for Christmas movies.
Being home has sucked because I walked into my room and saw her stationary that I associate so strongly with her at LCA sitting in a box on my bed, packed up by one of her coworkers, and when I further investigated my room I found her ashes on my desk. When I visited LCA, I walked past her room, which is now both hers and Jenna’s, the new Bible teacher who has took over the 6th grade. When I come home, she isn’t parked in front of the TV and I don’t have to negotiate for time to play the PS3. Dad and I have printed out a calendar to keep a plan of our lives that used to exist in Mom’s head. It has sucked because she’s so tangible here and so disconnected in Grand Rapids—sure, she was in the Prince Conference Center and met my professors, but she didn’t live her life in the spaces that I was frequenting in GR. I’m seeing more than ever how life is rolling on without her, which made sense in GR but is far from sensical in Burlington.
Life can still be normal at home, like it was last night when I hung out with 10+ of my high school friends and played Super Smash Bros for the first time and no one asked for an in-depth analysis of my life. But there’s a larger cloud lurking in the corner in Massachusetts than there is in Grand Rapids. In Massachusetts, I wonder about if my friend’s newly-minted fiancé knows that my mom died, and I wonder if my friend who was abroad wants to ask me how I’m doing but is too shy. I have relative anonymity in Grand Rapids, but in Lexington Massachusetts, Mrs. Johnson’s fingerprints litter my friends’ hearts. It’s a lovely thing, and I love that they have these memories of her that I lost due to the sheer volume of time spent together, but it’s also hard to forget that they all knew and loved and miss her too.
I’ve pretty much decided that I’m staying in Grand Rapids this next year. I say that it’s because I already have a community out there, which I do, and I have a great living situation, which could only be beaten by moving back home, but a piece of me wonders if I’m making that decision because I don’t have to consciously reckon with death as much in Grand Rapids. I love Massachusetts, and this may be the place where I end up living, but maybe I can’t be here until I’ve solidified who I am as Ms. Johnson and as a young adult rather than as the daughter of a widely-beloved fixture of a school community. I’m not saying I’m running away, but maybe I’m running away.
Pastor Sean, you were right. Maybe Hallmark Christmas movies may sate my romantic soul and family time will heal me, but they also break me up and drudge up feelings that I would rather pack away. Open wounds need air to scab over, and mine need the bitter air of New England.
The recommendations I got for you is The Christmas Prince and The Princess Switch (disclosure: I haven’t finished the latter), two Netflix original Christmas movies, but more importantly Into the Spider Verse (my dudes, if you like Marvel, animation, jokes, or feelings, you should see this movie) and this poem by sam sax that I haven’t read yet but am sure is weird and wonderful.
My mom loved Christmas movies. She would set up our TiVo months in advance in order to tape all the new movies, and from the moment I would get home from college, there would be one playing in the living room. She loved to predict the actions of people in winter wonderlands and laughed as they followed the well-worn grooves of falling-in-love plotlines. Most of the time we wouldn’t even watch them that closely—they’d play in the background while I wasted away my time (on aforementioned Tumblrs—a habitat that I’m dying to break) and she tittered away on professional development twitter or emails. She was working even when she wasn’t.
There were days last year when we watched three to four movies, only breaking for snacks and when Dad would get home (and often times we’d just continue watching with him). As of December 22nd, I’m watching my second Christmas movie. Mom would be appalled.
Last Sunday as we were exchanging farewells, Pastor Sean said, “Going home is going to suck, but you are going to get through it.” I was a little put out honestly. I had told every person who had asked me how I was feeling about going home that I was really excited to see my family, and I was. I was confused to why this pastor who knows me a good amount (but not a crazy in-depth amount) would say something like that to me. On Tuesday when I put my suitcase in the house and left to get the rest of my stuff in the car, I started to cry and I remembered what Pastor Sean had said to me. It did kind of suck.
I thought this homestay would be the same as coming home for the memorial service, but this time there were still jobs that were related to Mom but also more jobs that were basically rewriting the traditions we had staunchly printed in our lives—decorating the tree, making dentist and hair appointments, making family calendar, buying presents, watching a boatload of Christmas movies—and reworking those traditions have been hard. I cried telling my hairdresser today that actually I wasn’t doing great because my mom passed away almost two months ago and this was the first time I walked into a salon without her. I’ve been able to hang out with my friends like I usually do and see some more family friends, but there’s a voice in the back of my head that reminds me that perhaps less people would want to see me if Mom was still here. It’s been busy, even too busy for Christmas movies.
Being home has sucked because I walked into my room and saw her stationary that I associate so strongly with her at LCA sitting in a box on my bed, packed up by one of her coworkers, and when I further investigated my room I found her ashes on my desk. When I visited LCA, I walked past her room, which is now both hers and Jenna’s, the new Bible teacher who has took over the 6th grade. When I come home, she isn’t parked in front of the TV and I don’t have to negotiate for time to play the PS3. Dad and I have printed out a calendar to keep a plan of our lives that used to exist in Mom’s head. It has sucked because she’s so tangible here and so disconnected in Grand Rapids—sure, she was in the Prince Conference Center and met my professors, but she didn’t live her life in the spaces that I was frequenting in GR. I’m seeing more than ever how life is rolling on without her, which made sense in GR but is far from sensical in Burlington.
Life can still be normal at home, like it was last night when I hung out with 10+ of my high school friends and played Super Smash Bros for the first time and no one asked for an in-depth analysis of my life. But there’s a larger cloud lurking in the corner in Massachusetts than there is in Grand Rapids. In Massachusetts, I wonder about if my friend’s newly-minted fiancé knows that my mom died, and I wonder if my friend who was abroad wants to ask me how I’m doing but is too shy. I have relative anonymity in Grand Rapids, but in Lexington Massachusetts, Mrs. Johnson’s fingerprints litter my friends’ hearts. It’s a lovely thing, and I love that they have these memories of her that I lost due to the sheer volume of time spent together, but it’s also hard to forget that they all knew and loved and miss her too.
I’ve pretty much decided that I’m staying in Grand Rapids this next year. I say that it’s because I already have a community out there, which I do, and I have a great living situation, which could only be beaten by moving back home, but a piece of me wonders if I’m making that decision because I don’t have to consciously reckon with death as much in Grand Rapids. I love Massachusetts, and this may be the place where I end up living, but maybe I can’t be here until I’ve solidified who I am as Ms. Johnson and as a young adult rather than as the daughter of a widely-beloved fixture of a school community. I’m not saying I’m running away, but maybe I’m running away.
Pastor Sean, you were right. Maybe Hallmark Christmas movies may sate my romantic soul and family time will heal me, but they also break me up and drudge up feelings that I would rather pack away. Open wounds need air to scab over, and mine need the bitter air of New England.
The recommendations I got for you is The Christmas Prince and The Princess Switch (disclosure: I haven’t finished the latter), two Netflix original Christmas movies, but more importantly Into the Spider Verse (my dudes, if you like Marvel, animation, jokes, or feelings, you should see this movie) and this poem by sam sax that I haven’t read yet but am sure is weird and wonderful.
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