Dear Ann Landers,
You are facing the holidays, and someone you love will be missing. You see intact families everywhere-on TV screens, in magazine ads, on holiday cards, joyfully celebrating. You may be overwhelmed with grief as you face an empty chair at your table. The following suggestions may help you to cope: Change traditions. Have Christmas dinner at a different house this year. It is a paradox that the more you try to make it the same as it was before, the more obvious your loved one's absence will be. Balance solitude with sociability Solitude can renew strength. Being with people you care about can be equally important. Plan to attend some holiday parties. You may surprise yourself by having a good time. Relive the happy memories. Pick three special memories of past holidays with your loved one. Recall them often, especially if out-bursts of grief seem to occur at an inappropriate time. Set aside "letting go" time. Schedule specific time on your calendar to grieve. When you know you have set aside this time, it will be easier for you to postpone your flow of grief in public. Counter the conspiracy of silence. Because family and friends love you, they may think they are doing you a favor by not mentioning your loved one for fear you will be upset. Break the ice by mention-ing him or her yourself. Tell your family and friends that it is im-portant for you to talk about your loved one during the holiday season when that missing person is very much on your mind. Find a creative outlet. Write a memorial poem or story about your loved one and share it. Contribute or work with a group that your loved one supported. Use the money that you would have spent for a gift for that special person to buy something for someone he or she cared about. Don't forget the rest of the family. Try especially hard to make it a good holiday for the children. Listen to them. Talk to them. If dec-orating the tree or buying Christmas gifts is too difficult for you to do this year, ask a friend to do it for you. Utilize available resources. If your faith is important to you, partic-ipate in the holiday church services. Some veterans of the faith have a serenity, a kind of healing wisdom. They can help you. Seek out a support group of other victims. Or start your own short-term sup-port group to help you through the holidays. It is tempting to conclude that life is awful during the holidays. Yes, you will have some difficult times, but you also can experience some joy. Having a good time does not mean that you have forgotten your loved one or that you loved him or her any less. Let yourself go. Above all, remember that you cannot change the past. You can, however, take care of the present. Total recovery may never come. But what you kindle from the ashes of your tragedy is largely up to you. -J.H.L., Mothers Against Drunk Driving, Hurst, Texas

Dear Atm Landers,
In July, 1985, my wife was diagnosed as having terminal cancer. Shortly afterward, your column on "The Station," by Robert J. Hastings, appeared in Newsday. For years we had talked of "someday" going to Paris, a city I fell in love with as a GI. The day after I read the poem I realized that it was time to pull into the "station." As soon as the doctor OK'ed the trip, we went to Paris and had the most beautiful vacation of our 43 years. My lovely wife passed away a year and a half after the diagnosis. I since have taken the liberty of passing copies of that column to friends. One purchased his "someday" car; another went on a long-delayed trip. But "The Station" also can mean visiting a sick friend, and that "someday" should be now. There is so much hurt in looking back and remembering those things we intended to do and didn't. Thank you, Ann Landers, for Paris. -Irv Gaiptman Dear Irv: You were dear to let me know what "The Station" meant to your life. Here it is for all the others who haven't as yet learned that lesson: The Station Robert J. Hastings Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision. We see ourselves on a long trip that spans the continent. We are traveling by train. Out the windows we drink in the passing scene of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at a crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of smoke pouring from a power plant, of row upon row of corn and wheat, of fladands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city sky-lines and village halls. But uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day at a certain hour we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving. Once we get there so many wonderful dreams will come true, and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle. How resdessly we pace the aisles, damning the minutes for loi-tering-waiting, waiting, waiting for the station. "When we reach the station, that will be it!" we cry. "When I'm 18." "When I buy a new 450SL Mercedes-Benz!" "When I put the last kid through college." "When I have paid off the mortgage!" "When I get a promotion." "When I reach the age of retirement, I shall live happily ever after!" Sooner or later we must realize there is no station, no one place to ar-rive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us. "Relish the moment" is a good motto, especially when coupled with Psalm 118:24: "This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will re-joice and be glad in it." It isn't the burdens of today that drive men mad. It is the regrets over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow. Regret and fear are twin thieves who rob us of today. So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice cream, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more, cry less. Life must be lived as we go along. The station will come soon enough. In spite of the seriousness of the subject, every now and then, Vll get an outra-geous letter or one that strikes the funny bone. Take a look at these: