With the holiday season come the expectations. As much as social norms tell us we all should be celebrating, eating together, and indulging in presents great and small, many of us are having a hard time connecting with the holiday spirit and rejoicing in days merry and bright.

The reasons lie far deeper than the paucity of clear, bright December days in the Pacific Northwest, or the political, social, and personal ramifications of the 2024 election. Too many people we’d love to celebrate with are no longer here to celebrate with us.

“We have to draw the line and hold firm,” I told my neighbor some weeks back. “We can’t let this death thing advance any further!

“There are seven houses between our houses and the corner. Three people have died in those houses in the last year, and they were all younger than we are. Two other neighbors are coping with the aftermath of strokes, and another has mobility issues. One considerably younger person is in recovery after a kidney transplant, and several other people in the hood have died this past year. It feels like we’re living in a nexus of illness and death.”

As much as death comes when death will come, it sure seems as though it has been coming at an accelerated pace of late. When I also think of the two men I know in Port Townsend who have recently lost their husbands of over 40 years, and the friend whose memorial service I just attended in San Francisco, it feels a bit like I’m reliving the first wave of the AIDS crisis.

As the many people in Port Townsend who were heavily involved in serving people with AIDS can attest, the first decade of the epidemic was a horror. To reference my own experience, after editing a major book on holistic approaches to healing AIDS, leading seminars on the subject in a number of cities, authoring numerous holistic articles for one of the gay papers in San Francisco, founding the Castro Street Healing Group, and bringing Louise Hay to town for a big talk and all-day workshop, I found myself emotionally and spiritually ill-prepared for what I could not prevent. After 28 people I knew died between January and May 1989, I fell into a spiral depression and stopped counting.

I may be far better equipped to process death at this point in my life, but that doesn’t make it any easier. We live in one of the oldest cities and counties (demographically speaking) in the United States — one whose older population keeps increasing.

I’ll never forget an ex-neighbor’s tongue-in-cheek quip, “The great thing about Port Townsend is that no matter how old you are, there’s always someone older.”

Until there isn’t. Or there still is, but you are no longer around to enjoy it.

I believe strongly — I know — that every one of us has chosen to be right here right now for a reason. Whether that reason has mainly to do with our own personal growth and the growth of others in our circle, or with the greater good of humankind and the planet, we often do not know.

Similarly, I believe our souls choose when to check out. Why they make that choice is not always clear. Everyone’s path is different. But as much as our paths may lead us in different directions, we all ultimately end up in the same place. Death is a constant, and its constancy can be pretty trying and isolating during the holiday season.

Knowing all this doesn’t make living with grief any easier. We are all struggling to accept and to find the way forward—to understand when it’s right to go with the flow and when it’s essential to resist.

Whatever we do, whatever we choose, it’s essential to know that we are not alone.

May we all find our way into the collective heart of humanity, and may it nourish us during these very trying times.

Jason Victor Serinus is a critic of culture, music, and audio. A longtime advocate for rights, equality, and freedom, he is also a professional whistler. Column tips at jvsaisi24@gmail.com.