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Key points
- The holiday season may be anything but joyous for grievers.
- Pay attention to what is in front of you; fully acknowledge the moments of peace or pleasure.
- Not participating in the celebration is a valid choice.
How do we survive the holidays in grief?
It’s a big question.
My initial intention was to crowdsource tips for you for getting through the holidays. But when I asked my FB support group, I received some likes, two responses, and…crickets.
The question was, I think, too difficult.
How do we survive? By the seat of our pants.
Two Different Approaches
Those two responses: Linda, who lost her husband 23 years ago, focused on her daughters and young grandchildren, “so I really haven’t dealt with the loss of my husband,” she said. But losing her grandson Andres five years ago was “a very different loss for me,” and for two years she hid from the world. Eventually, she started spending holidays with her youngest daughter and other grandchildren. “So, long story short, I have made new traditions,” she says. “This year my plan is to stay focused on what's in front of me.”
Angela lost her husband, Kerry, nearly six years ago. She tried spending Christmases with family, even traveling from the United Kingdom to Australia one year. But, while the change of scenery helped, it still was difficult. Finally, she decided to step away from the whole business.
“Allowing space for how miserable I can feel helps me,” she said. “I cannot replicate our previous Christmases—good or not so good. I avoid the shops; I turn off every Christmas song on the radio. I have never been a big fan of Christmas. I don’t put up a tree; it was too excruciating the first few years, and now there’s no point.” Last Christmas she got food from her daughter, who was entertaining in-laws, stayed home, and connected with people from her grief support community. She cried and lit a candle and just lived the day, however it came. “I felt very sad, but at least I didn’t have to pretend to be happy for the sake of anyone,” she said, adding that she'll probably do the same this year.
Especially in the first years of grief, our goal is simply getting through the holidays rather than enjoying them. I am assured that it is possible to enjoy them again. I hold that hope.
My Way of Doing It...for Now
Since losing Tom, my mantra for November and December is, “Don’t look back.” I avoid all nostalgia. I skip the mall that was one of our traditions. Like Angela, I don’t listen to Christmas music. I can even get sad looking at Christmas catalogs, remembering how Tom always griped that the Land’s End catalogs granted men just a few measly pages. And I may never be able to use the decorations we collected over the years; they remain packed away.
The first Christmas after Tom died, my only “decorations” were the few cards I received. That year, my dog and I and a photo of Tom spent a few days around Christmas in an Airbnb in Austin, where I have friends. The second year I bought a wee fake tabletop tree on sale, wrapped a short string of lights around it, and added a few bird ornaments. The tree, dog, and photo came with me to an Airbnb in Austin again. So I guess Austin is my new tradition, including Christmas afternoon at the dog park with a widowed friend. Maybe these traditions will last, maybe they won’t. My life is a deck of cards tossed up in the air right now.
I’ve done Thanksgiving here and there. This year I drove to Tennessee to spend it with my brother and his wife. The 14-hour drive each way sounded grueling to everyone else, but it was therapeutic for me. Meditative. With fall colors. I took two days each way and one night honored Tom with dinner from Gus’s Fried Chicken in Memphis, his favorite.
Thanksgiving dinner with my brother’s in-laws was lovely, but I won’t lie: I cried all weekend. Couldn’t help it. I’m still crying. This just might be the state of things until, oh, mid-January. I am resigned.
Make a Plan, Stay in the Present
So that’s how I do holidays so far, along with a hike at some point, because being outdoors always soothes me. But that’s just me and not prescriptive—although living in the moment (a.k.a. don’t look back) is a pretty good strategy. Like Linda, pay attention to what is in front of you. Try to give full attention to the nice moments, even if they have nothing to do with tradition. It’s impossible to be completely sad at a dog park.
The other best practice is to have a plan. Don’t wait for someone to plan for you or you may end up unintentionally alone with your misery. If at the last minute you decide you can’t go through with whatever, that's fine, but have the plan in place—even if it’s just what you'll do if you decide to ignore the holiday, which is absolutely an option. No law requires any of us to be merry. As Angela pointed out, pretending to be jolly is a drag when you’d rather light a candle and cry, and if people try to guilt you over it, remember what grief expert David Kessler says: "What people think of your grief is none of your business." Only you know what you need. Some people find comfort in honoring all their traditions, and that’s perfectly fine, too, of course. Whatever works.
(I have no children but think widows who do are both fortunate and unfortunate—fortunate to have someone else to focus on, unfortunate in that ignoring the holidays, even if they want to, is likely not an option for them.)
I imagine our coping strategies will change with time. Maybe someday my home will no longer feel half empty and I’ll be inspired to decorate for myself (although I can’t imagine ever using “our” ornaments again). Maybe I’ll learn to cook a turkey (Tom always smoked ours outside) and host friends again. Maybe I’ll listen to our “Christmas Cocktail” album again.
Maybe. Or maybe not.
Celebrating the holidays is not mandatory, and even just participating can feel impossible when you’re nursing fresh grief. So if ho ho ho isn’t possible, don’t worry about it. We can only respect our needs. Treat ourselves gently. Follow our feelings. Just get through it however we can.
