3 Ways to Navigate the Holidays After the Loss of a Loved One

Santa came through our neighborhood on his firetruck, a highly anticipated annual event sponsored by our local fire department. Santa had an App this year and Tim tracked him on his phone as the little red dot made its ways through the cul de sacs and squares that represented our surrounding neighborhoods. We heard the sirens in the distance growing closer, then fading into the night again, then rounding the corner, until we could finally see the flashing lights.

“He’s coming!” Tim announced like a delighted 5-year old, grabbing his coat and dashing out of the front door. I grabbed mine too and followed him out onto the icy front step. And promptly burst into tears.

Well. What was that all about?!

I stood there in the cold trying to silence the sobs, hoping no one would notice as Tim ran out with our neighbors to greet Santa and his team.  

What was going on here? I love Santa on a Firetruck! I love the way our neighbors impulsively gather on this special night, hurrying out of their warm-lit homes, quickly pulling on coats and scarves, greeting each other with excited grins, children of all ages and religions waving and shouting and feeling the spirit of the winter moment. But in that instant, it was as if every holiday, childhood-charged emotion swelled up and came crashing down on me.

-    I was 4 years old, riding high on my dad’s shoulders to get a glimpse of Pip the Christmas Mouse at his annual appearance in the snowy window at Hess’s department store on Hamilton Street. 

-    I was 5, eyes wide, kneeling on my bed with my hands and face pressed against the cold glass of my bedroom window, painstakingly searching the skies for any sign of a sleigh, an antler, a red glow.  

-    Now I was sleeping with my blanket in front of Mom and Dad’s bedroom door, knowing “It’s too early to go downstairs. Wait until 7 am!” but determined to be there and ready when the call went up.

-    Finally, after the longest night of my short little life, I could hear Mom and Dad stirring. And I gathered with my brothers, humming with excitement and impatience in our jammies and robes and slippers at the top of the stairs.

Few traditions pack as much emotional punch as cherished holiday rituals, whatever they may be. For me, it was my father’s reading of “Twas the Night before Christmas,” the dining room table, covered in white sheets and 12 kinds of holiday cookies cooling from the oven, the proud and reverent sounds of traditional carols being sung in a church filled with candlelight and awe. All are treasured. Because, for me, the holidays will always be about family, and warmth and wonder.  

But all that’s changed now.  

Mom, who kept Christmas in her heart for all of us, is gone. 

Dad is 1000 miles away. 

The family home has been emptied and sold. 

We are adrift, struggling to find an anchor in new traditions and rituals. 

And I am feeling bereft.  

*Excerpted from the chapter, “Feel It All,” From Decide Happy: Less Stress. More Joy.

The holidays have a way of magnifying both love and loss. 

If you’re mourning someone this holiday season, you’re not alone.

Here are a few ways to navigate the holidays, even while your heart is hurting. 

1. Create an intentional way to remember and honor your loved one.

Light a candle for them, hang the special ornament, cook their favorite dish, reminisce over old photos and videos. Remembering and acknowledging our loved ones keeps them very much alive in our hearts and homes. 

• My brother-in-law Joe always includes the “Ones who are no longer at the table, but always in our hearts,” and acknowledges each loved one by name during his prayer at the holiday dinner table. 

• My colleague, Andrea, makes her Mother-in-law’s famous holiday cut-out cookies in the massive Kitchen-Aid mixer she gave to her before she died. She keeps the tradition alive her mother-in-law started long ago of baking, decorating, and enjoying those cookies every Christmas.

• Tim and I sip eggnog and toast his dad, Bill. It always makes us smile, remembering the time his dog, Harry, drained Bill’s glass of “cheer” when he got up to check on dinner. (Harry was fine. Granted, he slept until 2 PM the next day… but he was totally fine.) 

2. Contribute to a cause in their name.

Contributing your time, money, or skills to a cause your loved one cared about is a very meaningful way to deal with grief and honor them. 

• My friend, Rick, carries on his family’s annual “Turkey trot” tradition. He used to jog alongside his mom and dad. Now his daughters keep him company. 

• One of my Mom’s favorite causes was Turning Point -a city shelter where women and children, survivors of domestic violence, can seek refuge. 

One year, my mom led a drive to collect cosmetics for the women there. It seemed like a small thing, even superficial. But many of these women arrive at the shelter with only their children and the clothes they’re wearing. The shelter’s director told us how women would break down in tears over a lipstick, a fragrant hand cream, or a softly scented perfume—small luxuries that I take for granted, but that mean so much to these brave women who had lost so much.

Whenever I write the check, I hear my mother’s voice in my ear. “Thank you, my darling daughter.” 

3. Create new traditions

It’s okay to do the holiday differently.

You don’t have to keep traditions that feel too painful or overwhelming, and you don’t have to create new ones if you’re not ready. It’s okay to skip events, leave early, or simplify everything.

• My friends Stan and Sherry take a holiday cruise.

  
  

• After Landon’s dad died, his mom decided it was too difficult to crawl through the attic to bring down the artificial tree. So she’s decided that Christmas will happen without a tree this year. 

  
  

• With our parents gone, Tim and I celebrated a wonderful “Friendsgiving” with neighbors and friends this past November.   

  
  

It’s okay to say “not this year” to conversations, gatherings, or expectations that feel overwhelming. Protecting your energy is not selfish — it’s necessary while grieving.

That night after Santa’s firetruck went by, I took out my journal and wrote. I dug deep to peel back the layers and get to the true cause of my emotional outburst.

Here’s what I discovered: 

That powerful surge of emotion I thought was bereavement? When I unpacked it, it was that, but also something much more complicated and wonderful. At the heart of all that emotion was an immense tidal wave of love and gratitude. 

I am so grateful I had all of those Christmases. 

I am so grateful for those warm, family memories. 

I’m grateful knowing that we will somehow make new traditions, and hold our loved ones in our hearts and memories, even if we can’t be together. 

So, I will sing along to my mother’s favorite Silent Night and continue to hold the joy and magic of the season close. 

And I will laugh - and cry - as Santa makes his way down the street on his Christmas firetruck.

I wish you and your family a beautiful holiday season. May you hold your loved ones close- in your arms, your hearts, and your memories.

Stay Strong. Stay Kind.

With so much love,

Susan

Happiness Practice

• Which holiday traditions or memories of loved ones come to mind first this season? How do they make you feel in this moment?

• Is there a small way you could honor someone who is no longer with you—lighting a candle, sharing a story, or another simple act? What about contributing to a cause you both care about?

• What is one small tradition or ritual you could try this year to bring comfort, joy, or meaning to your holidays?

• Even amid sadness, what moments, people, or experiences this season fill your heart with gratitude?

Some days we all need a little help to Decide Happy.

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January 28th, 2026

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