When They Won't Be Home for Christmas (Holiday Grief)Sample

Day 5: The Radical Act of Staying Alive When Part of You Died

Here's the truth no one wants to say: when they died, part of you died too. Not metaphorically. Actually. The part of you that belonged specifically to them—that's gone. The future you imagined together—gone. The dreams you built around them being here—gone.

You're not who you were before. You're someone who's been to the funeral of someone you loved. Someone who knows what it's like to face holidays without them. Someone who's learned that the worst thing you imagined could actually happen.

So here's what you're doing by getting through this season: you're choosing life after you've experienced death. That's not small. That's not "just surviving." That's a radical act of resistance against everything in you that wants to give up.

Paul says we carry around death in our bodies so that life can be revealed. That's what you're doing. You're carrying death—the reality of their absence, the weight of loss, the grief that never fully leaves. And somehow, impossibly, you're also carrying life. You're still here. Still breathing. Still showing up to this hard season.

Jesus says "whoever lives by believing in me will never die"—but notice, he said that to Martha right before she watched her brother walk out of a tomb in his grave clothes. Resurrection doesn't erase the death. It doesn't rewind time. Lazarus still died. He still spent days in a tomb, but death didn't get the final word.

Your grief is real. Their absence is permanent in this life. The holidays will always carry this ache now. Death is part of your story forever.

But it's not the ending.

You're writing the next chapter—the one where someone who's been touched by death chooses to keep living anyway. Not because it's easy. Not because the pain stops. But because love is stronger than death, and the love you shared doesn't end just because they're not physically here.

Talk to God

God, part of me died with them. I'm not who I was. I'm carrying death in my body—this grief, this loss, this permanent ache. And I'm also somehow carrying life—still here, still breathing, still trying. I don't know how both things are true. Show me resurrection that doesn't erase death but transforms it. Help me keep choosing life even when living hurts. Amen.

Try This Today

Do one small thing today that's about living, not just surviving. Not because you have to. Not because anyone expects it. But because you're choosing—even in grief, even in pain—to say death doesn't get the final word. Maybe it's sitting outside for ten minutes. Maybe it's calling a friend. Maybe it's making your favorite meal. One small choice toward life.

What No One Tells You (But You Need to Hear)

The holidays won't fix your grief. Next Christmas won't necessarily be easier—it'll just be different. You won't "get over" this, and anyone who tells you that you will doesn't understand loss.

But here's what else is true: you're learning to live with a weight you never asked to carry. You're discovering you're stronger than you knew—not because you're handling this well, but because you're still here despite handling it imperfectly. You're being transformed by this, whether you want to be or not.

The person you're becoming knows things the old you didn't. Knows what matters and what doesn't. Knows how fragile life is and how strong love is. Knows that you can hold grief and joy in the same moment, that you can be broken and whole simultaneously, that resurrection happens through death, not around it.

This season will be hard. Some moments will be unbearable. You'll cry at unexpected times. You'll feel out of place at celebrations. You'll wonder how everyone else can act normal when your world is fundamentally changed.

But you'll also find moments—small ones, unexpected ones—where you feel their love still holding you. Where you experience grace you didn't know you needed. Where you discover you're more resilient than you imagined. Where life breaks through the grief like light through a cracked door.

Both things are true. The grief is real, and the grace is real. The absence is permanent, and the love endures. You're carrying death, and you're choosing life.

That's not weakness. That's the most courageous thing a human can do.

"The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. The righteous person may have many troubles, but the LORD delivers him from them all."— Psalm 34:18-19 NIV

You're not alone. You're held. And you're going to make it through this season—not unchanged, but undefeated.