How to Cope When the Holidays are Different
The holidays are supposed to be joyful. That’s what we’re told—bright lights, cheerful music, togetherness, and gratitude. But when you’ve lost something—or someone—you love, the holidays can feel like a mirror held up to that absence. What once felt warm now feels sharp. The songs, the smells, the decorations—all reminders of what’s missing. I know that feeling well. And it can feel impossible to cope when the holidays are different
Two Cats, Two Seasons, and the Shape of Loss
Oso and Caveat were littermates—brothers born on September 8, 2007. They came into my life together on October 14, 2007, as tiny baby kittens, and, for more than seventeen years, were a part of everything that made a house a home.
Oso loved Christmas. Every year, as soon as the tree went up, he’d curl underneath it and nap in the glow of the lights. He didn’t care about the presents; he just liked the quiet magic of the space. When I took the tree down in January, he’d sulk for days, missing his warm, twinkling nap spot. Oso loves other holidays too, mostly because they involved a nap with his person. The winter holidays were the best, with the gas fireplace on and his human liunging with soft clothes and soft blankets. This, to Oso, was pure cat heaven.
Caveat, on the other hand, was a Thanksgiving cat. His favorite part was Hawaiian rolls. He knew what the package looked like, and I had to lock them in the pantry or he’d steal them and make himself sick. Every Thanksgiving, he got a little pieces and it made him purr like nothing else. Caveat also loved Christmas, and specifically chewing on the Christmas tree.
They were brothers, opposites, and constants.
Oso died on October 17, 2024, at the age of 17.
Caveat died on October 16, 2025, at the age of 18.
Both days were warm and beautiful—the kind of perfect fall afternoons that make the air feel golden. It felt fitting somehow; the world was gentle and terrible when they left it.
This is often what I hear about the emotional side of divorce. Like when you lose a pet, there is no funeral for a divorce – just an empty spot where something once was. It’s the end of something that was very important, very central and defined you. It’s a loss without a name, and one that is carried privately.
When Holidays Collide with Grief
The first holiday season after a loss feels unreal. The world keeps moving while your internal clock runs on a different rhythm. As a wise assistant shared with me, that type of loss makes you want to scream that you just need it all to stop while you exist in sadness, and it never does. Everything that used to bring joy now brings a pang and it sometimes feels cruel that others are moving forward when all you want to do is not.
The truth is, grief doesn’t care what day it is. It doesn’t pause for holidays or wait until January. It shows up at odd moments: when you hear a carol, unwrap a decoration, or catch yourself setting out two food bowls instead of one.
I’ve learned that the only way through it is to stop pretending. To acknowledge that this year is different. To admit that it hurts.
Holidays with loss do hurt. But they also remind us of why they matter—because they were shared with someone we loved so deeply that their absence still echoes.
Letting the Memories Breathe
I realized I have two choices:
I could push the memories away because they hurt.
Or I could make room for them.
I chose the second.
That means I will still buy Hawaiian rolls at Thanksgiving, even though Caveat will not sit in his chair at the table begging for them, and when they are not forthcoming, resort to trying to swipe them off of the table. I will still put up the Christmas tree, even though Oso will not curl up under it anymore. I still keep a little piece of both of them in the rituals that made them happiest.
And sometimes, I still hear Caveat’s “sad tummy song”—that unmistakable yowl he made right before he barfed from eating whatever he should not – and especially the Christmas tree. I still hear Oso’s happy chirps from his favorite napping spots. Both make me smile now, but one that deeply resonates with some sadness. It’s one of those tiny, ridiculous, human things that turns loss into love again.
When you give those memories a place at the table, the grief softens. It becomes less about what’s missing and more about what you were lucky enough to have now. Even if you do not share them, make space.
Making Space for What Is and What Can Be
Grief isn’t a straight line—it’s a spiral. Some days you’ll feel steady. Others will knock the air out of you. Both are normal.
When the holidays feel heavy, try this:
- Keep one small tradition. Light the candle. Bake the pie. Buy the rolls.
- Let yourself skip others. You don’t owe anyone your energy or your cheer.
- Remember beauty still exists. It may feel different now, quieter, but it’s still there.
- Share stories. Tell the funny ones, the messy ones, the tender ones.
You can lean into the sadness and still notice the good. They aren’t opposites; they’re part of the same emotions. And sharing them can be a part of your healing.
If You’re Grieving This Holiday Season
Whether you’re missing a pet, a person, or a version of life that no longer fits, know this: you’re not doing it wrong. There’s no single “right” way to handle holidays after loss.
Grief isn’t a failure to move on—it’s evidence that you loved well.
Let the sadness come when it needs to. But also let in the small joys: the smell of rolls baking, the glow of lights on the wall, the comfort of a quiet morning. Those things are part of healing too. And more importantly, they are part of shaping the you you are now – the you that can handle life’s transitions and honor the memories.
Lean into the mess. Feel it all. And then, when you can, take a deep breath and let yourself believe in the beauty that still exists—in what was, and in what can be.
About Flat Fee Divorce Solutions
I’m Amanda Bradley, a family law attorney in O’Fallon, Illinois. I have been practicing law through many seasons of being a cat mom. I help clients throughout Madison, St. Clair, Monroe, Washington, Clinton, Macoupin, and Jersey Counties move through major life transitions with less conflict, less cost, and more peace of mind.
I’ve learned that healing—whether from loss, change, or divorce—rarely happens all at once. But if you take things one step, one day, one moment at a time, peace has a way of finding you again.