Beyond the Twinkle Lights: Grief, Holidays, and the Community That Holds Us Together

There’s this myth floating around (probably written on a mushy Hallmark card somewhere) that the holidays magically cure all sadness. As if the minute we drag the plastic totes out of the basement and plug in a slightly crooked string of lights, life suddenly becomes peppermint-flavored and problem-free.

Yeah… no. Every year, someone (usually multiple someones) is quietly carrying a heartbreak the size of a winter hay bale while the rest of the world is yelling “Merry Christmas!” as if volume equals healing. Grief doesn’t check the calendar. It doesn’t take PTO so you can enjoy your holiday. It doesn’t knock politely before walking into your living room and sitting on your chest in the middle of “Silent Night.”

Sometimes grief is loud and raw. Sometimes it’s quiet, sneaky, the kind that hits you in the baking aisle at Walmart because cinnamon rolls remind you of someone you can’t call anymore. And the holidays? They tend to amplify whatever we’re already feeling. Joy feels a little brighter, but grief feels heavier, like someone slipped a few cinderblocks into your coat pockets.

But here’s the part that matters we don’t have to carry those cinderblocks alone. We don’t talk about this enough. People think their grief is some kind of malfunction-something they should hide so they don’t “ruin the mood.” But the truth is that grief is love that no longer has a place to go. And around the holidays, that love starts looking for the people it used to land on.

So, if you find yourself crying in your car after hearing the opening notes of “O Holy Night”? You’re not broken. You’re human. And if someone else is grieving and you’re not sure what to do with them, news flash-you don’t have to fix anything. Sometimes the best thing you can say is: “I don’t know what to say, but I’m not going anywhere.”

One of my favorite things about southeastern Ohio is that we do community like nobody else. We’re not fancy. We’re not polished. But we know how to show up. Need firewood? Someone drops a truckload. Lost someone you love? A casserole appears like it was summoned by grief itself. Having a hard week? Someone will slip you a homemade cookie or a prayer or a hug that cracks your spine a little (we call these ‘Granddad” hugs and boy do I miss them!).

In the holiday season, when grief tends to swell in the quiet corners, that showing up matters more than ever. Because the cure for holiday grief isn’t pretending everything’s fine. It’s connection. It’s community. It’s people who say, “Hey, I see you. Let me sit with you in this.”

Community care doesn’t require a grand gesture. The small things often hit the hardest:

• Send a text to the friend who’s been quieter than usual.

• Invite someone to sit at your table, even if you’re not sure they’ll say yes.

• Drop off a card with a handwritten note-trust me, those get saved forever.

• Share stories of loved ones who aren’t here anymore; pretending they didn’t exist doesn’t make the ache smaller.

  
  

Grief softens when it’s witnessed. Pain eases when someone refuses to let you disappear under it.

If this year feels different, if there’s an empty chair, a quiet phone, a tradition that hurts to think about, please know this: You don’t owe the world a cheerful version of yourself. You’re allowed to step out of a gathering. You’re allowed to not decorate this year. You’re allowed to laugh without guilt and cry without explanation. You’re allowed to be a full, complicated human instead of a holiday mascot.

And you’re allowed -actually, I encourage you- to lean on your people. Let them carry a corner of the weight. Let them love you in the messy places. Let community be the net beneath you this season.

Don’t wait for someone to ask. People grieving rarely do. Check on your neighbors. Check on your friends. Check on the strong ones, the quiet ones, the “I’m fine” ones. Community doesn’t heal grief… but it holds it. And being held? Sometimes that’s enough to get through December.

Jamie McGrew, MPA

Director of Community Outreach & Programming

Mental Health & Recovery Services Board

Serving Coshocton, Guernsey, Morgan, Muskingum, Noble & Perry counties