On the Pali Highway into Kailua there are little crosses on the side of the road placed by some poor souls to mark where loved ones lost their lives. Christmas is hard
for those in mourningNear the old Kailua Drive-In, people have decorated a small stand of pine trees for the holiday. Some trees are marked in memory of those who have passed.
In downtown Kailua, a spontaneous holiday monument has sprung up around utility poles where a Kailua teen-ager was killed in a tragic pickup truck accident.
They are all reminders of what a tough time it is for those who have suffered personal tragedies this year - especially loss of a loved one.
It is nearly impossible to spend the first Christmas after a terrible loss in fond memory of the good times past. That comes later. The first Christmas is inevitably consumed by gut-wrenching mourning of the future good times lost.
Also in mourning this time of year are those whose loved ones are still alive, but have set their demise in motion with self-destructive behavior they can't control. The holiday urge is to reach out to lost family members and friends and try to bring them back into the fold. Too often, the result is disappointment all the way around.
It can be agonizing to watch people we care for deal with their hurt and losses. There is little to be said to ease the pain, little to be done to end the grief.
We try to strike a delicate balance, never sure if we're being bothersome by imposing ourselves on grieving friends or neglectful by giving them space. All we can do is try to be there for whatever they need as mourning runs its course and time does its healing work.
A friend and co-worker recently suffered an unimaginable loss and is taking it hard. Her grief is profound as she struggles to make sense of the senseless tragedy that has visited her life. She plays it over and over in her mind. She can't let it go. She can't get past it.
She was clearly distracted at a recent meeting. As she talked, she would drift away every few minutes - sometimes into silence, sometimes into tears.
She talked of going through the motions of the holidays for her young son. "It seems so unreal," she said. "I see everybody else getting on with their lives, making their holiday plans, doing their shopping, counting their blessings. That's what they should be doing.
"But what am I supposed to do? I can't get on with my life. What was my life is gone. What blessings am I supposed to count?"
I could think of little useful to say, so I mostly just listened. When we parted, I felt terrible that I hadn't been able to do more for her. I knew it had been difficult for her to meet with me. Getting through the meeting was in itself a small step forward for her. But my heart ached in sympathy for the long road to acceptance still ahead of her. I crossed my fingers that she would make it.
Then on Christmas Day I was talking to another woman who had gone through her own devastating tragedy a couple of years ago. I remembered having similar fears about her making it back.
She has changed. She's less playful, more guarded. Her loss clearly left a hole in her heart that will never fully heal. But on this Christmas Day, she talked happily about the holiday gathering of her family the night before.
There was a little hope in her voice again. The healing powers of time had let her once again find a few blessings to count.
