Reworking Traditions After Loss

The holidays have passed and the new year has settled in. As I look back on this season, I try to take note of what worked for me and what did not. Grief has taught me that this kind of reflection matters. What feels supportive one year may not the next, and that is okay.

Many traditions that once brought me joy no longer do. It has taken years of trial and error to understand what fits my life now. There was a time when I did nothing at all. I hid from the holidays, angry, sad and heartbroken. Carter was in the prime of his childhood when he died and the holidays are built around creating magic for children. Facing that absence felt unbearable. Then New Year’s would arrive, carrying the sharp reminder that this would be another year without my son. That truth still stings deeply and I have not found a way to soften it.

Some traditions, however, have stayed with me. My favorite is making Carter’s Christmas French toast on Christmas Eve while watching Home Alone, his favorite Christmas movie. I did this when he was alive and I still love it now. The smell of vanilla and coconut fills the house just as it always did. Carter loved this dish, topped with tropical fruit and coconut. He would moan in delight as he ate it!

This tradition brings me close to him. I love going to the grocery store and choosing pineapple, papaya, mango, and kiwi, all fruits he adored. I love setting up the kitchen on Christmas Eve, putting on Home Alone and imagining him laughing and dreaming up his own versions of Kevin’s traps. Chopping the fruit for the fruit compote is slow and grounding, something that has always felt therapeutic to me. In these moments I feel his presence and a deep sense of joy. I am incredibly grateful for this tradition.

Another tradition I shared with Carter was giving him a special ornament each Christmas Eve. I started this his first Christmas, hoping he would one day have a meaningful collection of ornaments for his own tree. Each one reflected something he loved that year. After Carter died, this tradition fell away. I tried to continue it, but it felt too painful and forced.

This year, I felt the urge to try again. Shopping for an ornament did not feel right, but letting the tradition go entirely also felt wrong. Then it came to me, I could make one. Since Carter died, I have taken up metalsmithing, a craft that has been deeply healing for me. Sitting at my workbench, I carefully shaped the metal, thinking of him with each movement. Creating something with my hands gave my grief somewhere to move and my heart a way to feel close to him.

The ornament I made holds a piece of crazy lace agate, often called the “laughter stone”, believed to bring joy and emotional balance. Carter loved rocks and crystals and took great care of his collection. So, including a stone felt meaningful. As I worked on the piece, I felt close to him. I could imagine him beside me, curious and proud. The finished ornament marked 2025 and brought me genuine joy. I am already looking forward to planning next year’s and watching for a stone I know he would love. This tradition is back, with a little transformation.

There are also traditions I have let go of. Some simply do not feel good anymore. As grievers, we have already endured so much. We are allowed to release what hurts. I no longer send Christmas cards. I no longer go out on Christmas Eve. Christmas Day looks different too. For a long time, I could not see anyone. Now, I look forward to my Christmas morning FaceTime with my parents in Florida. Finding a way to include them again, even from a distance has brought some softness back to the day.

What I have learned is that traditions after loss often need to be reworked, sometimes many times. I reflect on them after big days like holidays, birthdays and anniversaries, noticing what supported me and what did not. There is no perfect formula. What works one year may not the next.

This year, the holidays felt heavier. I was not in the mood for the season and felt relieved when it ended. The few traditions that still feel good helped carry me through. The holidays continue to hurt and likely always will. I am learning how to meet them with honesty, tenderness, and a willingness to adapt.