How I Navigate Grief and the Holidays After Cancer Loss

The holidays used to be my favorite time of year — days filled with decorating, cooking, laughter and gathering with friends and family. But after losing my best friend last year, along with others in years past, the season has taken on a different weight. Catherine loved Christmas Eve and always made such a big fuss to make it special for us. But now she’s gone, which makes the moments with my son and the people who remain all the more precious. There’s a quiet ache beneath it all — a constant awareness of who is missing. Grief has woven itself into every tradition, and some days, part of me wants to step away from the holidays entirely.

Grief is powerful. Grief pulls you into both the past and the future at once. You remember what once was, imagine a future that will never exist and search for meaning in every memory. Grief is not only sadness; it is the ache of absence, the weight of possibilities lost. Each new loss has a way of reopening the old ones, adding layers that accumulate over a lifetime. The heaviness can feel overwhelming, especially when the world around us seems focused on joy and celebrations.

It helps to remember that grief is a natural human process, one intensified by the complexity of our minds. We often forget that we are animals having a human experience — creatures driven by bonds and attachment. Our pesky frontal cortex — the seat of memory and meaning-making — further complicates grief. There is love and longing, which deepen our awareness of mortality and create a landscape where joy and sorrow can coexist. Life is inherently complex; presence and absence, hope and heartache often coexist without explanation. This is the price we pay for love, and in its own way, part of what makes our existence so profoundly meaningful.

The holidays can be comforting. I keep photographs of my loved ones close, visit their graves, listen to their favorite music and practice loads of self-care. Rituals matter, whether it's cooking a cherished meal, telling a story or caring for someone else — because they remind us that love doesn't disappear; it simply changes form.

For those of us living with hereditary cancer syndromes, the holidays can be intensely emotional. I find myself thinking of those who never had access to the medical options we have today. I'm grateful for the progress in awareness, screening and prevention. This time of the year reminds me that grief and gratitude can intertwine.

If this season feels heavy for you, know that you aren't alone. Grief doesn't pause for the holidays, and there is no “right” way to navigate it. Moving gently from reflection to action can help lower your expectations, create simple rituals, stay connected and care for your body because grief is exhausting; rest and nourish yourself.

Grief and love are inseparable, and the depth of one's sorrow reflects the depth of our love. You genuinely don't get over loss; you learn to live with it. This holiday season, I am allowing joy and sorrow to just be. Grief will be welcomed, and I will lean into it and let it move through me. Love never truly leaves you; it just manifests itself differently.

For Catherine, who I miss every nanosecond of the day.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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