My Experience with Grief During the Holidays

Ever since I was a kid, I counted down the days to Christmas each year. 

Sure, I loved getting presents and eating as many cookies as possible. I loved singing at holiday concerts and walking with my dance studio in our town’s Christmas parade. I loved shopping with my mom and bundling up for rare South Florida cold fronts. But most of all, I loved spending time with my dad. 

As a busy business executive, I didn’t see my dad as often as most kids saw theirs. Many dinners would consist of just my mom, my brother, and me. If I wanted to see him throughout the year, I could visit his office or the bowling alley he volunteered at. But when the calendar flipped to December, I had him all to myself. 

With our family all together for the holiday season, there were staples of our Christmas routine that could not be done without my dad. Every Christmas Eve before I went to bed, he read me The Night Before Christmas. When watching Christmas movies, he went through an entire tin of my mom’s peanut butter cookies. As a former choir kid, he had to sing along to every single song in Bing Crosby’s Christmas repertoire. I laughed at his singing, partially because he sounded so much like him, but also because he sang with the pride of headlining his own show. I didn’t know those would be the only shows I’d see him perform. 

My dad passed away unexpectedly in April 2016. I had just turned 12. 

Though months away, I could already tell that the coming Christmas would be difficult in its difference. There would be no more empty cookie tins. No more The Night Before Christmas. No more Bing Crosby sing-a-longs. Though I was unfortunately used to not seeing him often, his absence at Christmas would solidify that he was really gone. The one holiday I associated with my dad would never be the same again. 

My family did what we could to get by that year. Christmas recitals came, followed by church services and my mom’s annual Christmas party, which was the most extravagant yet in an attempt to distract ourselves from grief. But it was hard to feel the expected holiday cheer without him. Christmas Eve is my parent’s wedding anniversary, so in a way, that day was harder than Christmas itself. I had to witness my mom’s individualized sorrow on one of the happiest days of the year. When we woke up on Christmas morning, we all had one objective: finish the day as soon as possible. So we did, and I don’t remember much of that day as a result. 

Eventually, the holidays became more manageable. My mom found my stepdad, our family expanded, and we moved out of our old house. New traditions were introduced, and soon enough, Christmas celebrations differed from the routine of my childhood. But almost nine years later, I still struggle with his absence. I can’t hear certain Christmas songs without starting to cry. I think of his voice and how badly he loved his little girl, wanting to give her the life he never had. 

But even with my strife, I still love Christmas as much as I did when I was younger. 

Despite my dad not being here, I can celebrate familial togetherness and community. I can have movie marathons and wrapping parties. I can snuggle into Christmas pajamas and listen to my Bing Crosby record. I can do everything that little Elizabeth loved to do with her dad. By going forward and remembering the wonderful memories I’ve been left with, I can use Christmas to honor him. 

I will admit, however, that this Christmas feels strange compared to recent ones. This is my first Christmas in a new decade, with my 21st birthday approaching fast. I’m the most adult I’ve ever been, but I want nothing more than to revert to my 6-year-old self and hug my dad. I want him to tuck me into bed and play games with me. But when I realize that I’m closer to doing that with potential kids of my own than receiving it, I feel a pressure to move on from my grief and leave it in my teens. If I’m an adult, I can handle adult feelings. But Christmas would never be the same if I abandoned him. I would never be the same. He raised me to be the 20-something I am today, and though he isn’t here to see me in this form, I’m still his little girl. 

This holiday season, I’ll be holding my loved ones a little tighter. I won’t be afraid of embracing my emotions the moment I feel them. And when I hear “White Christmas” or any other song by his favorite baritone crooner, I’ll squeeze my memorial necklace and know he’s right by my side.

• #20s
• #Christmas
• childhood
• family
• father daughter
• grief
• holidays
• mental health
• Nostalgia