The holidays have a way of magnifying what's missing. Everyone talks about gratitude and togetherness, but when you're grieving, the day feels split in two… the world's version of Thanksgiving, and your own quiet version where someone you love is supposed to be here but isn't.
You move through the motions, but underneath every conversation and every clinking glass is a heaviness you can't explain out loud the way the table can feel so full and so empty at the same time. The way you wish loss could at least pause for the holidays. But it doesnt soften just because the world wants you to be cheerful.
If anything, it sharpens. You notice the absence in the things they loved, in the traditions you used to share, in the moments where you instinctively look for them, until the ache becomes its own kind of presence, lingering in the laughter, the silence, the spaces where their voice should be. And you're left trying to honor both the love that remains and the hurt that refuses to fade.
* Another Little Hole- Aqualung 🎶*
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