12/22/2025
I copied this from a friend's page. She does not know who the author is, so I don't know who to give credit to.
“Grief Collides With Joy at Christmas…”
Grief does not wait its turn at Christmas.
It does not step aside for twinkle lights
or hush itself for carols.
It shows up quietly,
sits down in the corner of the room,
and watches you open your hands.
Joy is there too.
That’s the confusing part.
Joy in the way the tree glows at night,
in the way a child laughs without knowing why,
in the smell of something familiar baking,
in the song you forgot you loved
until it found you again.
Grief notices all of it.
It watches you smile
and wonders if you feel guilty for it.
It presses on your chest when laughter surprises you,
whispers,
“How can you be happy when someone is missing?”
No one tells you this part.
That joy and grief are not opposites.
They do not cancel each other out.
They sit side by side
like old acquaintances who know the same stories
but tell them differently.
You carry joy in one hand
and grief in the other,
and somehow Christmas asks you to hold both.
You set an extra place in your heart,
even if the chair stays empty.
You hang ornaments that feel heavier this year,
each one holding a memory,
each one saying,
“This mattered. This still matters.”
You catch yourself laughing
and immediately thinking of who would have laughed louder.
You reach for your phone
before remembering there is no one to call.
You almost say their name
before swallowing it back.
And still,
the lights turn on.
The music plays.
The children wake up early.
The morning comes whether you’re ready or not.
Joy arrives without asking permission.
Grief follows close behind.
Some moments you feel both at once—
a smile through tears,
a lump in your throat while singing,
a laugh that breaks into crying
and back again.
This is not failure.
This is love refusing to disappear.
Grief is love with nowhere to go.
Joy is love finding a way to stay.
So if Christmas feels heavier and brighter
all at the same time,
if your heart feels full and cracked open,
if you’re thankful and aching in the same breath—
you are not doing it wrong.
This is what it looks like
to remember
and to keep living.
This is what it means
to love deeply
and carry that love into the light.
At Christmas,
grief does not ruin the joy.
It proves it was real.
