The Empty Chair: Navigating Grief Through the Holiday Season
The holiday season is often associated with joy, warmth, and togetherness. Christmas lights glow, carols fill the air, and families gather around tables filled with food and laughter. Yet for many, this time of year can feel bittersweet. Beneath the celebrations, grief and loss can quietly take their place—like an empty chair that reminds us of someone deeply loved and deeply missed.
Holidays have a way of magnifying emotions. They invite us to slow down, reflect, and spend time with those closest to us. But when a loved one is no longer there, the season can feel painfully different. The absence becomes louder. The memories feel closer. The longing feels heavier.
The first year after losing someone is especially difficult. Everything feels raw and unfamiliar. As the years pass, the pain doesn’t disappear—but life grows. The sharp edges of grief soften. It becomes less consuming and more like a quiet companion walking beside us. The loss remains, but it no longer defines every moment.
The holiday period can be particularly hard because it reminds us of love—the love we shared and the love we now miss. Grief, after all, is the cost of love. We are made to love deeply, and when we lose someone, we hurt deeply too.
This is my first Christmas without my mum, and it feels strange. She loved Christmas in its entirety—the carols, the gifts, the Christmas service. I miss her excitement, her enthusiasm, her joy, and even her moans. I miss her presence. It hurts to see her flowers still blooming in the garden. It hurts not to see her. It hurts not to hear her voice. These quiet moments of absence can feel overwhelming, especially during the holidays.
One grief model that resonates deeply with me is Lois Tonkin’s Fried Egg Model of grief. It suggests that grief does not shrink—but life grows around it.
In this model, the yolk represents early grief: intense, all-consuming, and central. Over time, the egg white begins to form around it. You start to experience moments outside of grief—new joys, activities, routines, and connections. The yolk remains, but it no longer dominates everything. Life expands.
This model is comforting because it reminds us that healing does not mean forgetting or betraying the person we have lost. The pain remains part of us, but it exists within a fuller, richer life. Grief pangs may still appear years later, yet they are held within a world that has grown wider.
Crying helps. Talking helps. Allowing ourselves to grieve helps.
Sometimes grief shows up as that empty chair—the one that belongs to someone no longer with us. Perhaps we rearrange the chairs to make space for someone who needs to be with us. Or perhaps we leave the chair empty and simply allow ourselves to feel the loss. Both choices are valid.
The best answer to grief is to grieve.
Wherever you are in your journey of loss—whether your grief is fresh or many years old—there is hope for healing. As life grows around our grief, it can become a companion that walks gently beside us rather than one that overwhelms us. It allows us to breathe again, to live again, and to create new memories, routines, friendships, and meaning.
This holiday season, if you are navigating grief, know that you are not alone. Healing is possible—even with loss by your side.