Editorial: The holiday season for those who grieve

How's that old Andy Williams' Christmas song go? "It's the most wonderful time of the year. It's the hap-happiest season of all ..."

Words on paper don't do it justice, but even as we type them, we hear Andy's voice singing in our heads. (Or maybe you hear Amy Grant's.)

That song does capture the spirit of the season. For most of us, truer words were seldom spoken. Or sung. This is a joyful time of year.

For most of us. But not all.

We're thinking today of a friend. He's going through his first Christmas since his wife died. The grief remains raw. And everything about this season brings it to the surface. Reminders of her greet him everywhere.

For years, she had been the gift purchaser, the card writer, the arranger of the annual family portrait sitting, the hostess who organized the holiday get-together.

His role largely had been to put on the Christmas sweater, show up, hug, support and enjoy.

This year, he grieves. But the grief is only part of it. This year also, he's forced to reinvent himself. She wasn't just his life partner. She was his comfort, his constant.

We're thinking of him today, but in the thinking of him, we think of other friends and acquaintances too. Different stories, different levels and methods of coping, but similar pain.

You no doubt know people in this circumstance, in this primordial isolation. You may be one of them yourself. The reality is, except in rare circumstances, one out of every two of us in lifelong relationships will end up bereaved.

Those of us who are outsiders to this, we the sympathetic friends and relatives who've yet to experience this for ourselves, are not unfeeling.

But we do have a tendency to think we did our part by rallying around the widow at the funeral and maybe making a call to check in a week later.

Those things do matter. They do help in that darkest hour.

But we tend to be unwittingly out of touch with the relentless nature of this kind of grief, with the life-altering changes mandated by the loss of a spouse after a relationship of 20, 30, 40, even 50 years or more.

When we leave the funeral, our lives go on. When the widow leaves, the long journey of coping with the life-after has only begun. For the widow, it's not a phase. It's the rest of life.

If you're one of the many in grief this holiday, reach out. Recognize you're not as alone as you feel. Reach out to a friend or a support group. Reach out without apology.

As for the rest of us, caring but stressed by the pace of the holidays: Step back from the rush for a moment. Take a breath. Pick up the phone. Call a friend in grief.

What you say when your friend answers doesn't for the most part matter. You say what is important when you make the call.