Holding On to Memories: Grieving During the Holidays with Faith and Love
Sigh...
The holiday season is here again. There’s the twinkling of lights, the warmth of decorations, and the sound of joyful songs all around. But for me, amidst all the beauty of the season, there's an undercurrent of sadness that’s impossible to ignore—the kind of sadness that sneaks up on you in the middle of a cheerful moment, reminding you of what’s missing. For me, it’s the echoes of my son’s laughter, the feeling of his small hand in mine, and the warmth of his presence. It’s been so many years, but it still feels like it was just yesterday. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who remembers—just me, holding on to memories that seem to fade for everyone else.
My heart breaks when I hear my daughter cry for her brother. She misses him so much, and sometimes, through her tears, she prays for God to send him back. It’s in those moments that the weight of my grief feels almost unbearable. I think about all the dreams that will never be fulfilled—the milestones we’ll never celebrate, the moments that were taken from us. He never got to grow up, to see the world, to have all the adventures I had imagined for him. And as a mother, that hurts more than words can say.
This year, it’s also the memory of my best friend, who I lost far too soon. Her birthday was just on the 4th of December, and it’s a painful reminder of the plans we had. This year, we were supposed to celebrate our birthdays by surprising each other with matching tattoos. It was our little plan—a symbol of the bond we thought would last until we were old and gray. The holidays have always been tough, but this year, the emptiness feels heavier.
Grief is like that, isn’t it? It changes shape but never really goes away. Sometimes it’s a soft ache, and sometimes it’s a wave that crashes over you, leaving you breathless. The holidays seem to amplify everything—the joy, the laughter, but also the emptiness and the longing. I know I’m not alone in this. Many of us are carrying the weight of loss, whether it’s the loss of a loved one, a relationship, or even a sense of normalcy. The holiday season, with all its glitter and cheer, can make that weight feel so much heavier.
For me, leaning on my faith has been the only way to keep moving forward. There are days when I feel like I can’t do it—days when the grief feels too big, too overwhelming. It’s in those moments that I remember the words of Psalm 34:18: “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” I hold onto that promise because, honestly, sometimes it’s all I have. Knowing that God is near, even when I feel alone, brings a sense of comfort that nothing else can. I may not understand why I had to lose my son or my best friend, but I know there is something bigger at work. There is a purpose, a plan, and a hope that I can lean on, even in my grief.
I’ve learned that there’s no right way to grieve. Sometimes I’m angry, sometimes I’m sad, and sometimes I even find myself laughing at an old memory. It’s messy and unpredictable, but I’ve come to realize that’s okay. Grief is a reflection of love—a love that was real, a love that mattered. Jesus Himself wept at the tomb of Lazarus (John 11:35), even though He knew He was about to raise him from the dead. That verse, the shortest in the Bible, reminds me that it’s okay to feel the weight of loss. Even Jesus grieved.
This year, I’m trying to find ways to keep their memories alive—my son, my best friend—both of whom meant the world to me. I set a place for them at the table, light a candle in their memory, and tell stories about them to anyone who will listen. It’s my way of keeping them close, even though they’re no longer here. My daughter and I play with his race cars and toys, which she still has and clings to. Sometimes, she even sneaks one of his action figures off to school, as if taking a piece of him with her. We laugh as we look at videos and reels of which I keep them just like that, as if preserving a piece of him in her world. It’s those small moments that make the grief a little more bearable.
I’ve also learned to show myself kindness. Grief is exhausting, and the holidays can make it feel like you have to be “on” all the time—cheerful, festive, “merry and bright.” But the truth is, it’s okay if you’re not. It’s okay to take a step back, to say no to the gatherings that feel too hard, and to take time for yourself. In Matthew 11:28, Jesus says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” I’ve held onto that verse, reminding myself that it’s okay to rest, to take a breath, and to just be.
This holiday season, I’m also reminded of the importance of community. God created us for connection, for relationship. It’s so easy to feel isolated in our grief, especially when it feels like the world around us has moved on. But I’ve found comfort in reaching out—in talking to friends, in sharing my heart, in letting others hold space for my pain. Galatians 6:2 says, “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way, you will fulfill the law of Christ.” Grief is heavy, but it becomes a little lighter when we let others help carry it.
There are some things I’ve learned to do—and some things I’ve learned not to do—when it comes to managing my grief, especially during the holidays. Here are some do’s and don’ts that have helped me navigate this journey:
Do’s to Manage Grief During the Holidays
- Acknowledge Your Feelings: I’ve learned that it’s okay to feel whatever I’m feeling, even if it doesn’t match the holiday spirit. Whether I’m sad, angry, or even joyful, I give myself permission to feel those emotions. Grief isn’t linear, and it doesn’t have to make sense.
- Show Yourself Kindness: I try to treat myself with the same compassion I would offer a friend. Self-care has become a crucial part of my healing—whether it’s taking a walk, journaling, or just sitting quietly with my thoughts. I remind myself that it’s okay to rest and take care of myself.
- Incorporate Memories into Traditions: Keeping my loved ones’ memories alive has been healing for me. Setting a place for my son and my friend at the holiday table, lighting a candle, or making their favorite dish are ways I honor them. These small gestures help me feel close to them, even though they’re gone.
- Talk to Someone: Grief needs to be heard. I’ve found comfort in talking to people I trust—people who listen without judgment. It helps me process my emotions and feel less alone.
- Ask for Help: I’ve learned that it’s okay to ask for help. Whether it’s asking someone to help with holiday preparations or scheduling a few extra therapy sessions, seeking support has made a big difference.
- Help Others: Giving back has been a way for me to find purpose in my pain. Volunteering, helping someone in need, or just offering a listening ear to another grieving person has brought me comfort. It reminds me that I’m not alone, and that my pain can be used for good.
Don’ts to Manage Grief During the Holidays
- Don’t Ignore Your Feelings: There have been times when I’ve tried to push my grief aside and pretend everything was okay. But I’ve learned that ignoring my feelings only makes them stronger. Instead, I set aside time to let myself feel—whether it’s crying, praying, or just sitting quietly with my thoughts.
- Don’t Compare Yourself to Others: Everyone grieves differently. I’ve caught myself looking at others and wondering why they seem to be coping better than I am. But I’ve come to realize that grief is deeply personal, and there’s no right or wrong way to do it. My journey is my own, and that’s okay.
- Don’t Neglect the Basics: Grief can be physically exhausting, and during the holidays, it’s easy to forget to take care of myself. I try to get enough sleep, eat well, and stay active, even when I don’t feel like it. Taking care of my body helps me take care of my heart.
- Don’t Feel Pressured to Be Festive: The holidays come with so much pressure to be happy and festive, but I’ve learned that it’s okay if I’m not. I don’t have to force myself to attend every event or put on a happy face. I can honor my grief and still find moments of joy in my own way.
I don’t have all the answers. But I do know that God is still good, even in the midst of my pain. I know that He sees my tears, that He hears my cries, and that He is with me, even in the darkest moments. How fitting my son’s name Isaiah, is also where I find my comfort. Isaiah 41:10 says, “Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” That promise is what keeps me going—knowing that I am not alone, that God is holding me, even when I feel like I’m falling apart.
If you’re grieving this holiday season, I want you to know that you’re not alone. I see you. I feel your pain. And more importantly, God sees you, and He is near. It’s okay to feel the sadness, the anger, the longing. It’s okay to cry, to laugh, to remember. Grief is a testament to the love we carry, and that love is worth holding onto. This holiday season, let’s give ourselves permission to feel, to rest, to remember, and to lean on the One who is always with us.
To those who are supporting someone who is grieving, thank you. Your presence, your listening ear, your gentle kindness—they mean more than you know. Grief is a journey, one that doesn’t have a clear end. But with faith, with community, and with love, we can keep moving forward, one step at a time.
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