Holidays and Empty Chairs

[babylonsister]

https://johnpavlovitz.com/2015/11/26/holidays-and-empty-chairs/

Holidays and Empty Chairs
November 26, 2015 / John Pavlovitz


snip//

The empty chair is different for everyone, though it is equally intrusive.

For some it is a place of a vigil; the persistent hope of a prodigal returning, of a severed tie to soon be repaired, of a long overdue reunion to come. It is a place of painful but patient waiting for what is unlikely, yet still possible.

For some the chair is a memorial; the stark reminder of what was and no longer is, of that which never will be again. It is a household headstone where we eulogize and grieve and remember,; a face we squint to see, a hand we stretch to hold, a voice we strain to hear.

For some it is a fresh wound; the painful fallout of a brutal battle that we chose or had thrust upon us, one whose aftermath has yielded silence. It is a place of sometimes necessary but still excruciating separation.

This may be the first time the chair has been empty for you, or you may have grown quite accustomed to the subtraction. Either way it hurts like hell, and I wanted you to know that someone sees you and understands.

This would usually be the time when a writer might offer some silver lining goodness to tie everything up in pretty little bow; some closing reminders about how the empty chair is still a blessing because it reminds us that we had something worth grieving over to begin with. It’s the place where he or she would offer some concluding encouragement regarding the lessons the empty chair teaches us, about living in the moment and being thankful for what we have and about growing through suffering.

I’m not going to do that. You’ll learn those lessons and acquire that wisdom and find that healing in your way and in your time—or you won’t. Life is unpredictable and messy that way.

Right now, I just want you to know that I see your waiting, your grief, and your pain, and that I wait and grieve and suffer too. In that way we all sit together in this, gathered around this same incomplete table.

Maybe that is all we can offer one another: our compassionate presence in this face of this terrible absence.

In this season each of us learns to have fellowship with sadness, to celebrate accompanied by sorrow. This is the paradox of loving and being wounded simultaneously.

May we each make peace with the holidays and the empty chairs.

[Demsrule86]

1. Lovely posts...I think about my childhood and how so many I loved have moved on to what I hope

is a better place, but I still miss them. My parents died too young.

[NRaleighLiberal]

2. Thanks for this. We have so many empty chairs...

My wife and I lost both our parents and her sister and brother in the last 10 years. Holidays become haunted - dealing with the present, reconciling with all of the ghosts, memories (good and bad - after all, that is what families are - you don't pick your family members!).

So we are soon off to fine at our daughter's husband's parents house, nearby - our other daughter is near Seattle - so as even our pets begin to drop away (just one 14 year old dog and two cats remain), my wife and I take our long walks, read our books, do our little art projects with the comfort and joy we have in each other, realizing how how fragile and temporary life is.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

[babylonsister]

3. Thank you, my friend.

I hope yours is wonderful as well; love to you both! xo

[greatauntoftriplets]

4. We're lucky in a way.

Our empty chairs are now populated by many children, one of them a bit short of two months old and something of a miracle baby because her mother went through a high-risk pregnancy at age 43. To me, they represent the future.