I always enjoy putting together Christmas posts. I often think of my mother while I write them—she left me a treasure trove of warm holiday memories that still color this season for me.
As a child I eagerly anticipated Christmas every year: the decorations, the quiet early-morning trips to the tree to see what “Santa” brought, lively conversations around the table, and a house full of family. Those moments form a tender collection of innocent memories.
Back then, in the easy years of childhood, I hadn’t yet encountered the sharper edges of life. I didn’t understand grieving or what it truly felt like.
Now I do.
That understanding is why the holidays can feel bittersweet for many people. There are many reasons someone might feel sadness at this time of year, but grieving the loss of a loved one is often near the top of the list.
This will be my mom’s third Christmas in heaven. I like to imagine she’s up there celebrating with my dad, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and other family members. Even amid the season’s joy, I feel a tender ache as I remember those who aren’t here anymore.
If this season doesn’t feel like “the most wonderful time of the year” for you, I want to share a small gift my husband—who volunteers as a hospice chaplain—once offered at a grief support meeting. It blessed me, and I hope it brings comfort to you, too.
Twinkle Lights for a Grieving Soul
(written by @mrharbourbreeze)
I love Christmas lights. This year I was probably the first person on the street to put mine up—my neighbors may have thought I was a bit eager, but I don’t mind. Living on the coast, those little sparkles help brighten long evenings and early, dark mornings. It usually only takes a few days before others start decorating too.
Twinkle Light Walks
One of my favorite memories from college happened just before Christmas break. After a long week of papers and exams, my friend Matt and I weren’t quite ready to turn in, so we took a late-evening walk through the quiet, snowy streets of our little town. The yards were alive with twinkle lights and playful decorations. The light snow crunched under our feet, and the glow of colored lights against the winter night felt refreshing after staring at books all week.
Last night my wife and I wandered our neighborhood. There was no snow, but the simple joy of seeing colored lights struck me just the same. Some houses were modern and elaborate with moving stars and projections; others were stringed together with whimsy and abandon. One home displayed a rustic plywood nativity scene that reminded my wife of her childhood church’s annual display.
Twinkle Light Themes
How does this relate to grief? Think of the familiar Advent themes—hope, peace, joy, and love—like twinkle lights in the dark. When we’re missing someone deeply, it can feel impossible to claim hope. Peace seems out of reach when everything feels unsettled. Joy may even feel inappropriate when tears have become so familiar. And yet love still exists around us, even if our closest loved one is gone.
Consider looking for those qualities as tiny twinkles rather than grand, sweeping feelings. Small moments can reveal glimmers of each: the way a child whispers wishes to Santa at the mall, a moment of calm when the sea lies still, the quiet pride a grandparent feels watching a child perform, the phone call from a friend who wanted to check in—these are small lights that matter.
A child telling Santa their wish—a twinkle of hope.
The ocean at rest on a rare calm day—a twinkle of peace.
A proud parent or grandparent watching a school holiday performance—a twinkle of joy.
A friend’s awkward but sincere check-in call—a twinkle of love.
Experience Christmas amidst grief — one twinkle light at a time
I don’t want to minimize the depth of loss. Grief is real and necessary. But amid the darkness, those small glimmers can bring a momentary lift. If we pay attention, we may notice some twinkle lights: brief moments of hope, peace, joy, or love that offer tiny relief. Our loss remains, and the work of grieving continues, but those small bright spots can bring comfort for a few seconds or a few minutes—and sometimes that is enough to help us breathe.
This season, may you find a little more hope, a touch more peace, a bit more joy, and an abundance of love, even while you grieve.
***
As you move through this holiday season, I pray you feel the spark of a few twinkle lights warming your heart. To anyone who is grieving today: I am so sorry for your loss, and I send you a big, compassionate hug.
Other resources on grief & sympathy
- How to make a homemade sympathy gift basket
- Podcast episode about experiencing grief and how to support hurting friends
