losing a piece of the holidays

There are the certain days throughout the year that bring more sadness than others after losing someone close. Many of those days can be identified ahead of time—birthdays, anniversaries, Father's day, Mother's Day—usually we can prepare for when emotions might be running a little heavy. And, not only can you prepare, but others around you can prepare, too. If you're one of the lucky ones, you've got a support system that recognizes these days are and makes it a point to be extra present, whether it's through a card, a text, a distraction, or just simply just by being there.

Days like those usually start out heavy and overwhelming, but as the hours pass, the weight on your heart lightens as friends and family bear some of that weight for you. This isn't to say that the day becomes magically less sad, but it does become a little more manageable.

While a lot of people do a wonderful job softening the hardness of those days and moments, there are other moments throughout the year that are less obvious to our surrounding circles, and as a result, end up being even harder than the days we saw coming. Holidays fall in this category.

Celebrating a holiday after loss is hard for a few reasons—but the most glaringly apparent one (which coincidentally ends up being the most blindsiding), is the absence of the person who once filled that day with so much joy.

What makes holidays so special are the nostalgic memories we hold on to and cherish so dearly. In fact, we cherish these memories so dearly that we end up striving to recreate them year after year, which in turn, creates traditions. These traditions—some of which we may not have consciously even known we had—become lost on families after an integral member is no longer present.

This has proven to be one of the hardest things for me to come to terms with. 

As everyone happily goes about their holiday traditions, celebrating and spending time with one another, families struck with tragedy are having a very different experience. Those families are trying desperately to hold on to some thread of happiness or peace of mind in the day, but often end up filling with grief instead. These days—the days that are intrinsically happy for everyone else—are when we need our support systems more than ever.

This is a big reason why we made our holiday cards—one simply acknowledging that the holidays might not shine quite the same, and the other reminding us that our loved ones are still somewhere nearby. Sometimes all it takes is for someone to address the empty feeling and to remind us that we're not alone—just that acknowledgement goes a long way. 

One day we'll have to create new memories and traditions that honor our loved ones passed while allowing us to move forward. This forward movement takes time though, and holidays are an adjustment that require us to go through the healing process. Until that process is underway, the support of a familiar voice can be one of the most comforting things to hold on to.

the hole in your heart

Anyone who has experienced significant loss knows about the hole that forms in your heart where your loved one once existed. That spot—the spot that was filled with the presence and being of someone we love—becomes filled with emptiness. 

It's hard to explain how we can become so incredibly consumed with something that leaves us feeling so incredibly empty, but we do. And it's a powerful feeling. Absence is powerful. Grief is powerful. It's probably one of the most powerful things we can feel...the only emotion that even comes close to it is love, because love is why we know how devastating it is to lose.

While over time, the impact of the hole in our hearts might become less severe and the power it has over our thoughts might slowly fade, it's still there. It never heals all the way over, meaning it's always at risk to being opened back up.

It can be something as simple as a smell or the lyric of a familiar song that can jolt us back to the beginning, back to when our heartache was raw and present in every moment of every day. These jolts are hard to rebound from—but we can rebound. We don't have to let them hold us back, but we can't always do it alone. We need others around helping push us forward. 

What makes grief hard to both deal with and to help others through is that it's different for everyone. Different stages happen at different cadences for different people. There's no guide that tells us what to expect or when to expect it, and this is an overwhelming concept to come to terms with.

It's overwhelming to realize that we've lost control over a part of our emotions. We can't predict the days that will wash over us like a tidal wave, just as much as we can't predict that days that will, for some reason, feel a little more bearable than others.

Once we stop trying to predict, we can allow ourselves to accept what is. And once we accept, we can begin to move through. And hopefully, when we can't move through on our own, we can let time take over. 

I won't say that time heals all wounds, because there are simply some wounds that never fully disappear. What time does do though, is it helps us find a new normal. It helps us figure out how to exist in a world where someone we love no longer does. And some days, it works better than others.

The best thing we can do for ourselves and for anyone we're supporting is to acknowledge instead of ignore. When we acknowledge that there are days with more moments of heartache in them than others, we help ourselves, and the ones we love, to just feel what is. And to know that they don't have to feel it alone. 

The heartache may not be as constant, and it may not exist from the second we wake up until the moment we fall asleep anymore, but some days—birthdays, anniversaries, holidays—remind us of that little hole in our heart. When we acknowledge these days, we allow for the ability to feel the pain for what it is,  and then hopefully, leave it behind.

It's for those days that we made this card.