Just a few days ago, an archived Facebook photo from 2021 that I’d posted the Thanksgiving weekend four weeks after Rich’s passing, appeared in my Feed. At that time, my elderly mother had come to stay with me and although I truly wasn’t into holiday decorating, for her sake, I did.

That memory made me think of each holiday season as a unique milestone passage on the rocky road of grief.

The previous Christmas, Rich and I prepared to celebrate the holidays in our new home in Georgia. Rich had fallen in love with a 7 foot pre-lit tree at our local Lowes. He assembled the very real looking tree in front of our home’s floor to ceiling-windows so it could be easily seen from the street.

Now stored on a high shelf in the garage, that tree required some muscle and maneuvering to be taken down and dragged into the house. But maneuver I did and I didn’t want any help. It was quite a feat when by the end of the day that magnificent tree stood fully-decorated shining like a beacon telling the world that life, and the holidays, would go on without Rich.

Just a few weeks into a sudden and major loss, however, I knew I was on auto-pilot, immersed in the widowed fog, the novocaine for the brain that enables us just to get up and go about the day doing all the things that still must get done.

Celebrating with my now late mother so far from our home-base of New Jersey will always hold a special place in my heart.  I’ve since moved from my Georgia home, but still have that tree that now gets to shine like a beacon in a log cabin home in rural Old Florida five Christmases after its debut under Rich’s then hopeful holiday tradition of beginning  life in a new town and home.

Holidays are always difficult to navigate when we lose someone so significant. Added to that, I’ve lost my memory keepers, nearly my entire immediate family has gone on since the loss of Rich. Much like other widowed people, I’m also no longer involved with most of my late husband’s family, although I know some widowed individuals who remain close to their’s.

With a combination of several good friends, colleagues, my canine pack and a new partner, I’m continually rebuilding from a new foundation. Although we can reinvent ourselves, I believe we always carry the weight of loss, and it’s never truly dropped like pounds. We carry it in different places in our bodies and minds and it shifts with time and circumstances and current challenges. Sometimes it even hides. That burden can be exhausting and why many of those who’ve experienced significant loss often limit socializing, or avoid large gatherings altogether. Our energy needs to be protected, renewed, reset.

I know I feel this way and sometimes I need to force myself to get out, show up and be present. As a writer and artist, I realize I have a need for a lot of alone time, but I also understand the importance of being among others so I always try to make the effort, even if its for a short time out and I’m often glad I did.

I was reading several online posts written by those who’ve been widowed for just about the same amount of time. Many, although are functioning well, report they just don’t have the same enthusiasm for things that once excited them and struggle to find new sources of enjoyment even though they have done all the “right” things to keep moving forward.

For me, walking, writing, working out and spending time on home projects keep me grounded and my mind off “things”. And resting when I need to. I know that I’m fortunate that I can do these things. My health is good and I have enough to provide for a good life. And of course, the four dogs that share our home keep me on the scent of the next good day.

I told someone the other day that I didn’t really like the words “healing” and “journey” when describing the process of grieving. Healing holds the promise of complete closure, like a paper cut, and journey seems to suggest that there will be an end to this road on which we have been placed, and after so many conversations and reading real-time online posts 24/7, I know this road never really ends and although some swaths are paved and straight, the next mile might bring rugged and twisting paths.

Holiday memories can be happy, and yes, we are always told to be grateful for what we do have, and we are, but those who haven’t lost a spouse (divorce is not an equivalent loss), or significant other, truly can’t even begin to understand the emotional turmoil that is experienced by those who have, especially at times of enforced seasonal cheer. And, nor do we want you to, for no one really wants to be in this club. This enforced cheerfulness can also add to the sorrow that is so pronounced during the holiday season; knowing the gift of family time is not showing up for you under that big pre-lit tree.

To offset some of the heaviness, take extra time to do the “little” things that will make you stronger and more content when the holidays finally wrap up and you can take credit for getting through “The Firsts” and then all the other milestones passed along the road to better days ahead in ordinary times.