Holding On, Letting Go, and Learning to Breathe Again: Grief During the Holidays
- Feb 2
- 3 min read
By Samina Bari I never imagined I’d become the woman writing about how to survive the holidays after losing a spouse. But when my husband, Doug, died suddenly in April 2023, everything I thought I knew about life, identity, and love collapsed—and even months later, the approaching holiday season felt like another mountain to climb.
What I’ve learned since then is this: for millions of people, the holidays don’t shine. They ache.
The empty chair at the table. The traditions that stop without warning. The pressure to be festive when you’re barely making it through the day. Every song, every light, every ritual becomes a reminder of the life you once had, and the one you didn’t get to finish.
That’s one reason I wrote Don’t Call Me Widow: A First-Hand Guide to Help Support Someone Who’s Lost Their Spouse. I wanted to give voice to the reality that grief doesn’t follow a calendar, and it doesn’t fade because the world is ready to celebrate again. The holidays can intensify the loneliness and the longing, even years later.
In those early months after Doug died, I remember being surrounded by people yet feeling utterly alone. Some people didn’t know what to say, so they avoided saying anything at all. Some offered platitudes, such as, “God has a plan” or “You’re so strong”—not realizing those words created more distance and pain. Others pulled back because my grief made them uncomfortable, especially during times meant for cheer.
But what grieving spouses need—what I needed—was simply presence. Someone to sit with me while I cried. Someone to say Doug’s name. Someone to acknowledge the weight of the season instead of pretending I was “better now.”
Grief rewired me. It dismantled my concentration, my energy, my sleep, my sense of safety. Even simple decisions felt impossible. I couldn’t cook. I couldn’t drive. I couldn’t answer “How are you?” without swallowing a truth too big for words. And during the holidays, when the world felt loud and bright, my grief felt even heavier in contrast.
Over time, I’ve learned that grief isn’t something you move on from, it’s something you move forward with. It changes shape, but it doesn’t disappear. More importantly, it changes you forever. And the holidays will always carry a mix of warmth and ache, joy and sorrow. That’s the complexity of love and loss intertwined.
A year after Doug’s death, I found myself rewriting the final chapter of a memoir I had planned to share with him the day after he died. That closure became part of my healing. Publishing that book in his honor led me to write Don’t Call Me Widow, an easy-to-use guide for anyone who wants to support someone who is grieving the life-changing loss of a spouse with compassion and clarity. And then came After Life, my podcast devoted to honest conversations about loss and how to support someone when life shatters their world.
If there’s one message I hope readers carry into this holiday season, it’s this: don’t disappear on the people in your life who are grieving their love, their life and their identity.
Reach out, even months or years later. A simple text saying, “Thinking of you today,” can mean the world. Acknowledge the person who’s missing. Leave space for the tears and the memories. Don’t force cheer or expect “closure.” And please, don’t assume the holidays get easier with time. Often, they get harder.
Grief doesn’t make us broken. It makes us human. And presence—quiet, steady, and imperfect —is the greatest gift we can give one another, especially now.
As for me, I’m still learning how to create new traditions for my daughters while honoring the old ones. I’m still navigating the waves that come crashing over me without warning. And I’m still learning how to rebuild a life in the messy aftermath of unimaginable loss.
But I’m also learning that love doesn’t end. It changes form. It lives in memory, in ritual and remembrances, and in the stories we keep telling. It lives in the people who stay. And during the holidays, that love is what carries me forward. Connect With Samina www.SaminaBari.com.
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