Silent Nights and Empty Chairs - Navigating Christmas Alone

This year putting up the tree, feels like an insurmountable task. What's the point? Who am I decorating for? The silence in this house is loud enough already; I don't need a twinkling reminder of what isn't here anymore.

It's been a few years since DT passed, and even longer still since our kids all moved out. The holidays used to be organized chaos. I remember the thrill of shopping for the kids, trying to hide each others gifts, and the laughter that filled the house. Then came the kids—trying to figure out what their gifts were, shaking the packages, and comparing who had the bigger gifts. My favorite memory is late Christmas Eve: the house was finally silent, the smell of food fulled the air, and he and I would sit together, just holding hands, looking at the glowing tree, knowing that in a few hours, the joyous excitement would begin again.

That's the ache I feel now. It’s not just missing him, though that’s profound. It's the missing of us, the family, the hustle and bustle of my family at home.

Now, Christmas is a logistical puzzle. Instead of a pile of carefully wrapped gifts under our tree, I spend evenings at FedEx, juggling boxes and shipping labels, ensuring all the love and presents make it on time to my kids and grandkids. It’s a transaction, a necessary duty, rather than the quiet joy of slipping a surprise under the tree after everyone is asleep.

I know I’ll see them, or talk to them, and I am so grateful for the connections we maintain. But it's not the same as having them here, piled on the couches, fighting over the last slice of cake, and having DT right there beside me to witness it all.

This year, I’m trying to give myself grace. I plan to spend time with Tone’s family for the holiday. Maybe that will deaden the void I feel inside.

I’m giving myself permission to just be—to feel the loneliness and acknowledge the beauty of this new life, even if my heart aches.

The whole landscape of Christmas is different for me now. I am going to allow myself to feel the sadness of what was and explore the joy of what’s next…