The holidays often arrive wrapped in an expectation of joy, togetherness, and celebration. Yet, for those walking with grief, the season can feel tender, raw, and profoundly isolating. Grief can make the glittering lights seem too bright, the festive songs too loud, and the traditions too heavy with absence. But it’s also true that grief, like the seasons, shifts and changes with time, creating space for hope to take root in unexpected ways.

In my own journey, the holidays have become a space of paradox—mourning what has been lost while finding glimpses of warmth in the coldest, darkest months of the year. A ritual that has emerged for me in recent years is putting up an evergreen tree, a practice steeped in both tradition and personal meaning. The act of bringing a tree inside during the longest nights of the year has become a metaphor for my grief: a testament to hope, resilience, and the quiet beauty of life that persists even in winter.

Grief’s Shifting Landscape

In the early years, grief can feel like a storm. The holidays, with their insistence on joy, only amplify the contrast of that inner turmoil. The first year after a loss, I remember feeling utterly disconnected from the season. The decorations and celebrations seemed like an affront to my aching heart. Instead of a tree, I lit a single candle, its flickering flame the only acknowledgment of the holiday spirit I could muster.

But as the years passed, grief softened—not disappeared, but transformed. The sharp edges dulled, and I began to notice moments of light breaking through the shadows. Small rituals, like hanging ornaments or listening to music that reminded me of loved ones, became ways to honor both my loss and my enduring connection to those who were no longer with me.

Why I Put Up a Tree

For the past few years, I’ve returned to the tradition of putting up an evergreen tree, not because the grief has vanished, but because I’ve found new ways to hold it. The evergreen, with its enduring green needles, symbolizes life that persists even in the coldest, darkest times. It reminds me that grief, like winter, is a season—difficult but not endless.

Decorating the tree has become an act of storytelling. Each ornament carries a memory: a loved one’s favorite color, a small keepsake from a trip we took together, or even something whimsical that reflects their sense of humor. Hanging these pieces feels like inviting their presence back into the space, reminding me that while they may not be physically here, their love and influence remain evergreen.

Grief as a Season of Growth

Over time, I’ve come to see grief as a teacher. This does NOT mean that I have to be grateful for it, nor that I have to lean into beliefs of it all happe ing for a reason. Some days are easier than others, as with everything- it shifts and changes as I (and the content of my days) do. I CAN say with absolute confidence that my grief walking has taught me to cherish the quiet moments, to find beauty in resilience, and to seek light in the darkness. The holidays, once a painful reminder of what I had lost, have become an opportunity to reflect on how love and hope continue to grow—even in winter. It’s one of life’s cosmic contradictions, the both/and, many emotions simultaneously existing within one season… and life.

The tree in my living room has become a symbol. It’s not just a decoration; it’s a living metaphor for how I carry grief and hope together. Beneath its branches, I feel connected to the cycles of nature and the promise that spring will come again.

Finding Your Own Evergreen

If you are grieving this holiday season, know that it’s okay to rewrite traditions. Light a candle, hang an ornament, or bring an evergreen into your space. Whatever you choose, let it reflect your journey and honor your loss.

Grief doesn’t demand that we let go of our loved ones; instead, it invites us to carry them forward in new ways. And just like the evergreen tree, we can find ways to stand tall, rooted in hope, even during the longest nights of the year.

This season, may you find moments of peace, connection, and perhaps even a flicker of joy amidst the complexity of grief. Remember: the light always returns… it may shine differently for you, it may illuminati new ways of thinking or BEing and still… it’s there.