How to Grieve Through the Holidays

Advice for moving through the season when it's very heavy. A recipe for ginger chicken noodle soup and chocolate chip cookies — meant for giving away.

🫒 I’m grateful to Graza for supporting today’s post. This is a heavier topic, so please take care while reading.

I am grateful to everyone who contributed their thoughtful stories and advice. I cried multiple times reading what you shared, and I am hopeful this writing meets you where you need to be met.

The end of the post includes comforting recipes to share and a timely and generous giveaway thanks to Graza — so make sure to enter!

How to Grieve Through the Holidays

Have you ever made eye contact with someone, and instinctively known you were about to receive life-altering news?

In the midst of Small Business Saturday, a particularly optimistic and exhausting one as I was trying to save my small stationery store after the pandemic wiped out all foot traffic for most of 2020, I caught my mom’s eye. She was sitting at a table in my store, phone glued to her ear, and her bright blue eyes shot across the room to mine. Her hand slowly covered her mouth.

This was the Saturday that kicked off the holiday season — and it was my hope, actually, it was essential, that my small business would bounce back, or it would not survive another year. The shop was finally full, hope was literally in the air. We were going to be okay.

Behind my bright yellow apron, my stomach flipped into a knot when I met my mom’s eyes. I cocked my head to see if she would nod back across the room, assuring it was okay. She didn’t. My mind started presenting options — perhaps a car accident? Was my dog hurt? Someone we knew was sick? Surely, this was about the dog.

I made my way to her table and tangibly felt the severity of the news must be far worse than what I imagined; the world felt blurry as my body started instinctively putting on imaginary linebacker pads to brace for whatever words were about to be said. We made our way into the side alley of the building to get air.

“Jake is dead.”

She wept. And I froze solid. Not one tear.

Shock, maybe, wrapped me in a brief icy bubble wrap where I only processed information, and my feelings were spared in a temporary lift. It would last 20 minutes.

I think I asked some questions. I don’t think either of us knew anything, though. The world moved around me. Bright yellow aprons dancing on my staff, small business shoppers filling their baskets, upbeat indie pop blasting on the speakers. My world shifted on its axis, the feeling of no ground beneath me.

As in most scenarios where you are delivered horrific news, you must immediately move into action. I found my husband in the store, and I delivered the news like I was reading a teleprompter. He drove us 40 minutes to my grandparents’ house.

In the backseat of the Volkswagen, my eyes finally filled with tears. I wasn’t even sure what I was crying about — I hadn’t processed anything about him being gone. I think I was crying about the fact that something terrible had happened at all.

I sat on my grandparents’ couch, tears streaming into and filling my paper mask covering my mouth and nose like a self-sustaining waterboard. I watched my family pace, cry, discuss, drive away, walk in circles, hug, weep, and endure the worst day in the kitchen. The intensity of collective decision-making in the midst of everyone’s worst-case scenario is so unfair.

Jake was my twenty-year-old cousin (he was just about to turn twenty-one), and he was found in his bed. We were all devastated.

After this day, November 28th, came his birthday, then came his funeral, and then Christmas. We had a marathon of loss to grieve ahead of us.

The horror of suddenly losing someone with no warning, when he was so young, stuck. And the grief of losing the essential connection to every childhood memory I have stuck. And for everyone who loved him, something specifically difficult stuck to them. The holidays did not feel jolly and cheerful. And years later, at every gathering, an empty chair still looms.

For many people, for so many reasons, we enter the holiday season in survival rather than abundance. Some years, you are questioning how you will have time to wrap delightful gifts or bake enough cookies. Some years, you are questioning how to get through one meal or one hour.

The holidays amplify grief as we usually associate them with precious traditions or memories. The present is salt in the wound, as we come to terms with those traditions being altered and the realization we cannot go back.

As I processed my own loss ahead of another Christmas with no Jake, I reached out to readers about grieving through the holidays. Had anyone figured out something that helps? I found, both in your words, and in my own experience common things that seem to help the bereaved, and I’m sharing them here.

It seems that a spirit of gentlesness and grace is key — for both the mourner and comforter.

Whether you are grieving yourself or trying to love someone who has lost someone, there are practical things you can do to help someone move through the holiday season:

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Simplify Routines as a Kindness

I once read that when your worst nightmare has transpired, it is time to buy paper plates. I understand best practice is obviously to reuse and wash your plates, but when the worst has occured — it is time to take daily functioning down the path of least resisitance. Doing dishes, figuring out what to eat, laundry, sleep — all things that seem to be on auto-pilot can immediately feel insurmountable.

If you are caring for someone who is grieving, consider what functional aspects of their life you can take on. Can you do their dishes? Can you pick up laundry and drop it off? Can you bring them a meal?

It is generally best not to ask, “what do you need?” to someone who is in turmoil. They probably do not know how to answer that. Instead, just drop off a meal, a coffee, or a set of freshly washed sheets. You know they need to eat and sleep.

If you are grieving — can you give yourself a break in any functional area? It is okay and makes a lot of sense that not all cylinders are firing at your usual capacity. Release that pressure. Can you get groceries delivered instead of going out? Can you do paper plates for a few days? Can you drop your laundry off to be cleaned? Can you hire a house cleaner/dog walker/babysitter/meal planner to help you for a short stint?

In sharing how her family navigated unexpected loss, Caylie said, “We functioned by keeping things simple. We made dinner because it was familiar. We showed up for regular family calls. We talked about memories — not because it didn’t hurt, but because remembering kept my parents present in a different way. Some days, ‘getting through it’ meant getting dressed and eating something warm. Other days, it meant sitting in the heaviness and letting it exist without rushing it away.”

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Honor Memories

Reader, Sophia Laurenzi, shared, “My dad died by suicide in 2018, and Christmas had become his holiday. He hosted our large family every year, complained about it, and loved it dearly.

He would also rope my brother and I into a day of making homemade cappelletti (a stuffed pasta similar to tortellini) that we served at Christmas, with the coveted leftovers doled out to only his favorite relatives.

For the first couple years after he died I had a really hard time imagining recreating Christmas without him, so I tried new things with my family. Christmas in a woodsy cabin one year, a board-game themed white elephant the next year.

Now, my brother and I are getting together to make the famous cappelletti.

Allowing yourself to try new things, and revisit old ones when it feels right, is something I’d offer to anyone grieving.

There’s so much pressure to make the holidays magical and special, and sometimes they just won’t be. But it has helped me to release my expectations of what should make a holiday feel good, and explore new things of what makes it feel good to me, allowing that to change as my grief changes.”

When grieving with others, honoring the memories shared with a loved one can be a comfort. It can also ache, but it seems that being able to share and remember together is both a pain and a balm.

Mallory Mason wrote, “This year, I'm still having a hard time getting in the Christmas spirit, but I'm filling my house with decorations my mom used every year, and it helps me feel close to her. My mom was a gracious and generous host; everyone was always welcome in her home, so I view hosting people at my house as a continuation of her love and legacy.”

Honoring a loved one through emobdying the things they loved to do is a powerful way to show up and be present, depsite the hole in your heart. Reader, Elaina echoed this sentiment in a story about her grandmother and her legacy.

“My grandmother was the queen of hosting Christmas and tragically died in a car accident on December 20th, 1999 (ironically while delivering gingerbread houses she had perfectly decorated). We buried her on Christmas Eve and ate all of the food she had prepared. We opened our gifts from her. It was so sad and so tragic and the grief has clung to most of my relatives.

I was young when this happened so it’s just a heaviness that comes with the season that has always been, but I’ve found peace in honoring the legacy she left behind. It puts the whole season in perspective. Time is the best medicine.”

Ella is embarking on her first Christmas without her grandparents this year. She says, “I hope I can have a calm day where I remember all the good moments we shared during past Christmases. I also think that doing the small things at Christmas that were important to them is a way of keeping their memory alive through me.”

Helen C Stark, so thoughtfully adds, “Holidays bring along all sorts of expectations that aren’t easy to navigate when grieving. Simple steps to allow space/time to grieve: having a bath, going out for a walk solo, journaling, retreating to read a bit, having early nights. As well, acknowledging a loss with loved ones can be very helpful too. If it’s a shared loss, there are many simple ways to grieve both together.”

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Make Room for Sadness & Actually Grieve

In attempts to move through the pain, we forget to be sad. Of course, we are very sad. But we forget to allow ourselves to be sad for periods of times. It’s also very uncomfortable to be sad. We feel weak, like a burden, and it’s inconvenient to smear mascara and feel sick from sadness. No one wants to sit around and be sad while the tree is lit up and tinsel is rustling, but we have to make space for the sadness or it will come out sideways. This is a gentle reminder, it’s okay to be sad this year.

Corona shares a moment of her own processing: “We are Dominicans, and here the holidays are very special about family and friends, and being with the ones you love the most. Recently I learned that one of [my dad’s] favorite all-time merengue (type of music) is called “Navidad Sin Mi Madre,” translating to “Christmas Without my Mom,” and the whole song is about the context of the man grieving his mom during Christmas and how sad and empty he feels by it. When I realized what the song was about and why he always puts it on, I cried and cried and cried. Sobbing. I can’t imagine how much he wishes she were still alive and enjoying these days with him. He grieves her this way, and I think it is lovely to remember your loved ones in happy moments, too.”

Songs that strike a memory or looking over family photos can serve as a vessel to loosen the tears and allow yourself to grieve. Many readers suggest making a space at home as your own “retreat” to tap out of events and gatherings and be sad.

Be sad when you need to be, and always let someone in to know when it’s been difficult or extra exhausting. Even just send a brief text.

It’s so specific to each person and each moment, but conversely, there are times where journaling or remembering or sitting in the sadness is so intense that you need a distraction and a break from crying and processing. Sometimes a favorite movie, a walk, a card game even, helped me be okay. Sometimes, I couldn’t sit and process it all over again, I just needed to look around and do something with my hands. That’s part of it too.

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Do Something Different

Many readers shared that their loss propelled them to do untraditional things during traditional times. They decided since the traditions wouldn’t be the same anyway, they could lean into that and do something entirely different. Traveling to an new place, leaving the country, and visiting distant family all came up as options.

Anna Seirian shared, “Last Christmas, I remember telling everyone it would be my last Christmas with my dog. He is old and frail, and I thought there was no way he would make it to this one... and yet here he is, wobbly little legs and all. There is a heaviness that is following me around this season, wondering if he will make it through the month, but it’s a profound reminder to enjoy each sweet moment as it comes. I also have, for the first time as an adult, been doing simple little yuletide crafts to make the environment feel more magical for both of us. I’m estranged from my family at holidays, so there’s always a low hum of loneliness November-January, and I can’t believe it took me this long to create a beautiful and festive environment, even if it’s just for me.”

Aside from embracing new traditions, escaping for a while is another option.

Sara Thomas shared, “The Christmas I was separated and getting divorced was my heaviest grief holiday. I had known my partner since we were kids and the idea of Christmas without him felt impossible. In that season I had relied on friends for my housing and while I had many gracious invitations for the holidays, I wanted to be able to cry and grieve freely and not feel like I was taking anyone’s holiday out with me. Originally, I had a flight to travel with my ex’s family, and when I called to cancel I decided to see how much it would cost to rebook to Ireland - there was no change fee. It truly felt like a miracle.

I ended up traveling exactly on Christmas Day and had an eight hour layover and I let myself feel all the feelings as they came up. Grief. Gratitude. Loneliness. Fear. Joy. I watched families in Christmas pajamas travel and other solo travelers who looked more somber like me. I spent a week seeing landscapes I had dreamed about and let myself do all the scenic crying I needed to. It didn’t fix all my grief or heartache but it reminded me that it’s okay to take what I need and that there is no one way to do the holidays.”

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Give Joy Away, Somehow

This story took my breath away.

Elise White bravely wrote:

“We lost our 32 year old son last fall to suicide. If it were not for our grandchildren I don’t think I could have even put up the tree last year. Life has a way of continuing on and not letting you stop completely. Honestly, even now I just continue to put one foot in front of the other with the hope that time really will ease the pain (not sure I really believe that).

I journal quite a bit and pray quite a lot! So that is how I cope for the most part. But what has helped me most is realizing that everyone has a hard part to their story. At some point in life there will be sorrow and pain. I have been meeting up with different friends for coffee and really listening to their stories of grief and struggle. There is no lack of sorrow in this world.

Getting my focus off myself an onto others has been a help. I am still trying to understand how to hold both sorrow and joy. I don’t have that answer yet. There are triggers literally everyday and I just move through them. Acknowledging them and taking another step forward.

This week on the baking isle in the grocery store, a song came over the speaker that was a harmonica player who’s music sounded exactly like my son’s. It literally stopped me in my tracks. I chose to accept it as a wink from God that Austin is ok.

Tomorrow is his 35th birthday and I will eat gas station food and drink a Sprite in his honor. Those are the practical ways I function. I will never ‘get over’ it. But I expect as the years pass I will deal differently with the grief. Thank you for this opportunity to share. One of the things to help a person who is grieving is to make space for them to talk about the person they lost. It’s important that the person not be forgotten. Make space for their memory.”

The universal principle of “give away what you wish you had,” seems to amplify in grief too. Give away joy. Give away hope. Give away tradition. It is true that we all find unbelievable strength when caring for someone else. And in that gutteral giving away, we find new ways to honor loved ones and ourselves.

Caylie shared this perspective:

“My mom lost her battle with cancer on December 17 — just days before Christmas. We had been told she was in remission only weeks earlier, so her death came faster than we were prepared for. It was my first real experience with grief, and it arrived in the middle of the jolliest season of the year.

What got us through wasn’t resilience or perspective — it was people. When it felt like our world was falling apart, our community quietly stepped in to keep it from doing so. Friends, neighbors, and coworkers dropped off meals without asking. Someone brought over a real Christmas tree because they knew my mom insisted on one every year. We didn’t decorate it perfectly. We barely decorated it at all. But it was there, and somehow that mattered.

That Christmas taught me something practical I still carry with me: the season doesn’t erase your need for help. Ask for it. Accept it. Let people show up.”

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I developed two recipes that feel like a hug. One for dinner, one for dessert. The intention is that you find someone who has suffered a loss this season, and make them this comfort meal. Few things communicate “community” like a homemade meal.

Remember, if delivering the meal, you do not have to say anything profound or clarifying — you can just say, “This is terrible, and I know you need to eat food at some point.” And that is love communicated well.

Turmeric & Ginger Chicken Noodle Soup

A comforting, aromatic, and herby take on a classic.

Ingredients:

Yields: 6 Servings

• 1–1½ lb chicken thighs (bone-in for more flavor, or boneless) (you could alternatively shred a rotisserie chicken to make things easier)

• 3 tbsp Graza’s “Sizzle” Extra Virgin Cooking Oil

• 1 yellow onion, diced

• 3–4 cloves garlic, minced

• 1½–2 tbsp fresh ginger, grated

• 1½ tsp ground turmeric

• ½ tsp black pepper

• 1 tsp sea salt (plus more to taste)

• 6–8 cups chicken broth (bone broth if you have it)

• 2 carrots, sliced

• 2 celery stalks, sliced

• 6–8 oz noodles of choice (I like Brami’s Radiatori)

• Juice of ½ lemon

• Fresh herbs for finishing: parsley or cilantro

• Graza’s “Drizzle” Extra Virgin Finishing Oil for topping

Instructions:

1. Sauté the base
   Heat Graza’s “Sizzle” Extra Virgin Cooking Oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add onion and cook until soft and translucent (about 5 minutes).

2. Bloom the spices
   Add garlic, ginger, turmeric, black pepper, and salt. Stir constantly for 30–60 seconds until fragrant.

3. Add broth & chicken
   Pour in chicken broth and add chicken thighs. Bring to a gentle boil, then reduce to a simmer. Cover and cook for 20–25 minutes, until chicken is tender.

4. Shred the chicken
   Remove chicken, shred with forks, and return to the pot.

5. Add vegetables & noodles
   Add carrots and celery and simmer 5–7 minutes.
   Add noodles and cook according to package instructions.

6. Finish
   Turn off the heat. Stir in lemon juice if using. Taste and adjust salt.

7. Serve
   Top with a swirl of Graza’s “Drizzle” Extra Virgin Finishing Oil, fresh herbs, and extra black pepper. Serve with a chunk of sourdough bread.

Comfort Cookies

Zesty, balanced, chocolate chip cookies that feel like a gooey hug.

Ingredients:

• ½ cup Graza “Sizzle” Extra Virgin Cooking Oil

• ½ cup brown sugar

• ¼ cup granulated sugar

• 1 large egg

• 1 tsp vanilla extract

• 1½ cups all-purpose flour

• ½ tsp baking soda

• ½ tsp salt

• 1–1¼ tsp ground cardamom

• ¾ cup chopped dark chocolate (60–72%)

Optional finish: flaky sea salt, Graza’s “Drizzle” Extra Virgin Finishing Oil, orange zest, or a dusting of cardamom sugar

Instructions:

1. Whisk wet ingredients together
   In the larger bowl, whisk Graza “Sizzle” Extra Virgin Cooking Oil, brown sugar, and granulated sugar until glossy. Add egg and vanilla; whisk until smooth.

2. Combine dry ingredients
   Whisk flour, baking soda, salt, and cardamom in a separate bowl.

3. Make the dough
   Fold dry ingredients into wet just until combined.
   Stir in chopped chocolate.

4. Rest that dough
   Let the dough rest 20–30 minutes at room temperature so the flour hydrates and the olive oil mellows.

5. Bake

   • Preheat oven to 350°F (175°C)

   • Scoop 2 tbsp mounds onto a lined sheet

   • Bake 10–12 minutes

6. Centers should be soft and pale, edges just set.

7. Finish
   Drizzle a spiral of Graza’s “Drizzle” Extra Virgin Finishing Oil.
   Sprinkle with flaky salt or a whisper of cardamom while warm.

   Zest an orange and spread dustings on top of cookies.
   I would cool the pan for exactly 5 minutes before moving.

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The Giveaway:

As part of this post, Graza is offering a small giveaway as a gesture of care. One reader of Feeling! will be randomly selected in the comments to receive this amazing gift (and truly, the most delicious olive oil of all time) in the mail!

1. Make sure you are subscribed to Feeling! Magazine

2. Leave a comment about your favorite comforting dish — either for you, or that you love to make for others! The comment section will become a resource we can all come back to when we need a comforting dish idea.

3. A comment will be randomly selected, and I will reach out about your shipping address to confirm you won!

I am wishing you moments of relief and small moments of hope while you navigate heavy waters. I am so grateful for this online community and how you share so vulnerably and willingly. I hope whatever your holiday season ahead looks like, you take to their wise advice and find ways to give joy away, even when you don’t have any yourself.

Love,

Jenna O.

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