Grief Through the Holidays: Year Four

 

The holidays have a way of magnifying both joy and sorrow. For me, they carry the weight of absence—this is the fourth year without my daughter. My momma's heart aches with a heaviness that cannot find words to express the depth of it. So, it sits quietly inside my heart, and sometimes catches me off guard with its sting. The lights twinkle, the carols play, and yet there’s always a quiet ache beneath it all.

What matters most to me is remembering my daughter. She mattered. She changed my life in her 24 years, and her love continues to ripple through mine. Her journey was not always easy; in fact, many times it was brutally difficult and challenged me in so many ways. She taught me so much through those challenges, struggles, and hard-fought hallelujahs. 

Grief doesn’t follow a calendar. It doesn’t fade neatly with time. Tears still come, sometimes unexpectedly, even in the middle of laughter. And yet, I’ve learned that both can coexist. Joy and sorrow, hand in hand. 

What steadies me most is knowing that God holds us close in these moments. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). When the ache feels unbearable, His presence is a gentle reminder that we are not alone. He gathers our tears, and somehow, He also makes room for laughter to return. The sound of joy doesn’t erase the pain, but it reminds me that love is still alive, even in loss.

So if you find yourself grieving this holiday season, know this: it’s okay to cry, it’s okay to laugh, and it’s okay to feel both at once. Grief is not a sign of weakness—it’s a sign of love. And in the midst of it, God’s love is steady, holding us close, whispering hope into the heartbreak. “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more” (Revelation 21:4).

This year, I choose to honor both the tears and the laughter. Because both are sacred. Both are part of the story. And both remind me that even in grief, life still holds beauty.

Ways to Honor Their Memory

• Light a candle at the holiday table, a quiet symbol of their presence.

• Share a favorite story about them with family, keeping their laughter alive in your home.

• Create a tradition in their honor—bake their favorite cookies, hang an ornament that reminds you of them, or play a song they loved. 

• Give in their name—donate to a cause they cared about or bless someone in need as a way of extending their legacy.

• Write a letter to them each year, reflecting on what you miss, what you cherish, and how their love still shapes your days.

These small acts draw them close to your heart, reminding you that love doesn’t end with loss. It continues, carried in memory, in tradition, and in the hope that one day, all things will be made new.

And so, this holiday season, I carry Kari with me. Her laughter, the lessons I learned, her kindness, her silliness, her 24 years of love and light are woven into the fabric of who I am. Though the ache of missing her will never leave, neither will the beauty of her life. Kari mattered—she still matters—and remembering her is how I honor both the tears and the joy. Until the day all things are made new, I will hold her close in my heart, trusting that God holds us both even closer.