Gratitude and Grief: Holding Both at the Holidays
For most of my adult life, I’ve known that the holiday season brings with it a mix of emotions.
Gratitude and grief often sit side by side, quietly weaving their way through our traditions and gatherings.
In my family, the holidays have long been a time of laughter, deep connection, good food, movies, football, and the simple joy of being together. Even in seasons when grief was present, gratitude seemed to take the lead.
But something has shifted in recent years.
As the love of my life journeys deeper into the shadowlands of Alzheimer’s, I find myself more aware than ever of how many people experience the holiday season not just with joy, but with sorrow.
The grief has become more personal, more present, and more powerful. And though the gratitude hasn’t disappeared—it’s still there in abundance—it’s now accompanied by a tenderness, a vulnerability that wasn’t there before.
Last Thanksgiving, our family gathered again. There was laughter. There were shared meals and familiar rituals. There were sweet moments of connection, moments where I paused, breathed deeply, and soaked it all in. Those moments were amazing and life-giving. But there were other moments too—moments when the weight of grief was so heavy, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
I’m learning that holding both grief and gratitude is not only possible, it’s necessary. Denying one diminishes the other. But holding them together—naming the pain without letting it eclipse the beauty—is part of what it means to love deeply.
As I walk this path alongside my beloved, one step at a time on her way home, I’m discovering that the deeper the grief, the more profound the gratitude. And I’m learning to listen with greater compassion to those for whom the holidays stir more ache than celebration.
If that’s you this year, know that you’re not alone. There’s space here for your grief. And there’s space for your gratitude too.
May we all find the courage to hold both.
A Prayer for Those Holding Both
O God of joy and sorrow,
You see the fullness of our hearts—
the laughter and the tears,
the gratitude and the grief.
Hold us gently in this season.
Help us to savor the beauty that remains
and to mourn what is slipping away.
Teach us to walk with tenderness,
to love without fear,
and to trust that You are near—
in the light and in the dark,
in the feast and in the ache.
Amen.
