Happy Heartbroken Holidays
On grief during the merriest time of year
Decorating the tree is emotional for me. Christmas reminds me of my sweet mama. She’d wait until my brother or I got home from college or New York or San Francisco to rearrange the living room so she could put up the faux tree framed perfectly in the front window. I would get on a ladder and hang the lights up on the ledge above our garage.
We grew up very modest. I got a pair of Costco pajamas most years, sometimes something she picked up at T.J. Maxx — and I was always embarrassed, ashamed, ungrateful. My mother couldn’t afford much. I went to a private school on financial aid where my best friends were getting new wardrobes, digital cameras, new computers. The works. I was envious, but mostly I felt sad. My drive started at a young age to become financially successful so I could buy whatever I wanted in the future. I wanted all the things. And I did that. I was making a pretty penny by my late 20s, and I threw so much of it away on material things I thought I needed. The excess, the validation, the greed. And at the ‘height of my success,’ my mom died. When a parent dies, a part of you dies too and you lose yourself. At least I did. I crumbled, I was lost. I started caring about things wildly less and wildly more.
I’ve wanted to share more here, but I didn’t feel ready. Until I started decorating the tree. My connection to my mother can bring me to tears and chills. I never know when it’s going to happen, but I’m not surprised it happened when I started decorating the tree. I have a million things I planned to tackle now, but I felt this was the best use of my time. Processing through writing is so powerful and what I realized is how absolutely heartbroken I am that my mom is gone and not here for the holidays.
I’m finally at the point now that I’m starting to truly feel and believe that things do not equal happiness. I just watched Father of the Bride and there’s the scene when the McKenzies bring Annie and Brian a new car with the big bow on it as a wedding present. George (Steve Martin) is ashamed of his gift. When Annie opens it, it’s a cappuccino maker that’s clearly reminiscent of her time in Rome. Annie’s response? “I’ve never loved anything more.”
I’ve seen the movie a hundred times, but watching it tonight made my heart ache and I cried. The sincerity of George’s gift and the way it touched Annie’s heart. I felt it. I’m not surprised how this simple scene brought me to tears tonight with how I’ve been processing grief and the holidays.
This is the fifth holiday without my mama, who died from an aggressive cancer that took her life in seven short weeks. I’ve already found myself declining family events because of my sadness. I didn’t want to be where the entire family is going to be, because it’s not the entire family to me. I’ll be at family Christmas, but I couldn’t do it for Thanksgiving. Running away was much easier, and that’s the honest truth. I have an incredible family, absolutely incredible, but I am the only one who can process the grief stored inside my body.
This is not a cry for help. I am here to open up the conversation around grief during a time that feels heavy to a lot of us. Grief, like heartbreak, is universal. One loss is connected to every loss. And the chaos of holiday glee can feel crushing.
I’ve also learned that it is in fact possible to celebrate and be merry, even if it feels wrong, like betrayal. But then I remind myself that my mom’s biggest wish was for me to be happy and for me to be safe. I could imagine a mother’s biggest worry is knowing that her children are ok, especially when they can’t physically protect them. In my darkest moments over the last five years, she’s saved me in more ways than I could have imagined. I’ve had a guardian angel protect me so fiercely that it’s easy to believe that her spirit lives on. And the saying goes: talking about them keep their spirit alive. So here I am.
I often find my mind in a tug of war between gratitude and comparison. And what I tell 10 year old Cat who was sad on Christmas Day opening up another pair of Costco pajamas: when you squash the comparison mindset, you become the most abundant of all. To bask in the abundance of the life I get to live. The holiday I get to celebrate. The new year I get to ring in. To be in the arms of those I love the most. Not everyone gets to and those are the only gifts that truly matter. And that is the silver lining I remind myself when I feel robbed of my mom’s presence this holiday.
I also often forget how we can be happy and sad at the same time. The two co-exist beautifully through our journey in grief. I wrote about this in a few IG posts back in 2021 and 2022, and I’m sharing them here. They are exactly how I still feel today. Here they are:
It’s the happiest and heaviest time of year. My heart gets so soft during this time. I feel so deeply happy to celebrate, yet I cannot ignore the missing person in the room. I’m taking this moment to let anyone know that if you are missing someone, you are not alone. I don’t have a purpose on this platform, but if it’s to make one person feel less lonely, that’s all that matters. The amount of grief we collectively feel as a world can be overwhelming, but i genuinely believe there are always silver linings. Loss is a part of the circle of life, but that doesn’t make it easy. I hope my vulnerability in openly talking about grief brings comfort to someone out there. We all experience grief in varying degrees and circumstances, and none of those journeys more important or severe than the other. And I hope that sentiment brings a sliver of comfort and companionship.
My mama would have wanted me to celebrate this holiday. Cook, eat, drink (but not too much), laugh, rest. And that’s what I will do. I personally find it most healing to admit sadness, because I don’t want to ignore that part of this healing process. Of course I miss her, but I won’t let that take away from experiencing and feeling the joy of this season.
I am one of the lucky ones. To be surrounded by so much love makes me feel a type of gratitude that makes me wonder how I got so lucky. I was lucky enough to connect with amazing souls this week and talk about the complexities of life and death, yet how simple it all is. My perspective on living will never be the same, because you really start to think about what life is all about. Losing my mama has opened my eyes and heart in ways I never imagined.
Anyway, my heart is open to anyone who is missing a loved one this season. Whether you’re continents apart or an after life separates your souls, I hope you find that special connection and bond to your people, someway, somehow.
I hope this is a gentle reminder to show compassion a little more than ever during this time of year. You never know what someone is going through. Here are some words and moments that have touched my heart recently… and I hope it resonates with someone out there, too 🤍
I went years without crying, trying to be super tough, and now any moment I think of my mama, I’m on the verge of tears or I’ll grin from ear to ear. Grief and joy. They coexist in the most contradicting way, but somehow it works. I’m grateful for the joy I have found through grief. Laughter through sobs. Two releases that lighten your soul, even if for just a moment.
I’ve been thinking a lot about everyone who is going into the holiday season missing a loved one or feeling uneasy with anxiety. I hope you find peace and lightness, and remember that you’re not alone. I hope we can all show a little more compassion and find that patience deep down — to family to friends to strangers. You never know what someone else is going through and a simple act of kindness can change someone’s heart in an instant… During this season of grief in my life, there can be so much joy at the same time. And that’s what I find myself talking about so much… grief and joy. It exists together and the best part? It can make you feel the joy so much deeper and appreciate what you have right in front of you.
I get how hard it is read a message on grief if you are in it. Trust me, I’ve deleted and skipped past several well-written pieces of wisdom on grief. It’s easier to ignore. So if you did read this and it was hard for you to get here, I see you and am so proud of you.
The rollercoaster ride of loss is a maze. We’re all figuring it out as we continue our lives earth side and dream of the day we are united with our guardian angels. All we can do is live and breathe — which is the greatest gift of all.
I am sending extra love to anyone feeling heartache during this season — in whatever form that may be. Happy holidays from a heartbroken girl who simply misses her mama extra today.
Love, Cat
Beautiful, Cat ❤️ Anytime you need a non-family moment (say, a walk down Christmas Tree Lane?!) give me a call and I’ll be there with peppermint hot chocolate in hand!
Beautifully written — so amazed always at your strength my friend ❤️ she’s never far from you