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The Weight of Missing Her: Grief at Christmas

Hi there, dreamers and deep thinkers,

When my mother passed, my first instinct was to focus on her. Was she at peace? Was she okay? It felt like my heart and mind were preoccupied with making sure she was safe, even though I knew I couldn’t do anything about it. I poured my energy into honoring her, almost as if my grief wasn’t mine to feel yet.

Now, it feels different. The sadness has become sharper, more personal. I miss her in ways I wasn’t prepared for—ways I didn’t think about when I was so focused on her journey. It’s like grief has slowly turned its attention toward me, and it’s heavy.

This time of year, the ache feels deeper. Christmas was always about the small, thoughtful gestures she loved so much. A favorite snack wrapped just right, a card with words she’d read over and over, or some little thing that made her feel seen and cherished. It’s hard knowing I can’t do those things for her anymore.

Every day without her feels like adding to a growing pile of “I miss yous.” But around the holidays, the pile becomes a mountain. The traditions feel emptier. The memories, though precious, feel like they echo louder against the silence she’s left behind.

I didn’t expect the layers of grief to grow this way. I thought they’d fade or at least soften. Instead, I’ve come to realize that love doesn’t fade, so neither does the loss. Maybe that’s the price of a bond so deep—it stays with you, always.

If you’re grieving too, please know you’re not alone. This season can amplify the ache, but it can also remind us of how much love we still carry. Love doesn’t disappear. It lingers, weaving itself into our memories, our actions, and even the tears we shed.

So this Christmas, I’ll light a candle for her. I’ll speak to her, even if only in my heart. And I’ll try to find joy in the thoughtful gestures she taught me to love—maybe by doing them for someone else, in her honor.

Stay curious,

With love,

April

Cognitive Psycho

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