Sip, Scroll, and Learn (Midlife Edition)

The holidays have a way of magnifying everything. The joy feels brighter, but so does the ache of loss. For me, it hits when I set the table. There’s always that empty chair, the one that reminds me of who’s no longer here. For ten years now, I’ve felt that absence during the season when family gatherings seem to matter most.

At first, I thought I had to push through it. Smile, carry on, keep the traditions alive. But what I’ve learned over the years is that grief doesn’t take a holiday, and it doesn’t have to. It can sit quietly with us, right alongside the love.

The Quiet Ache of an Empty Chair

There’s something about the holidays that makes loss sharper. You hear their favorite song, pull out the ornament they once hung, or set out the dish they loved. Suddenly the absence feels fresh, no matter how many years have passed.

For me, the first few holidays after my husband’s passing were especially raw. I found myself caught between wanting to keep everything the same, as if that would keep him close, and not wanting to do anything at all, because it felt too painful.

If you’ve felt that same tug-of-war, you’re not alone. Many midlife women carry grief into the holiday season, whether it’s the loss of a partner, a parent, a sibling, or even the loss of the family traditions that no longer look the same.

Learning to Make Space for Grief and Joy

Over time, I discovered that the answer wasn’t to “get over it” or to push through the grief. It was to make space for it, to allow the empty chair at the table to be part of the holiday, without letting it consume everything.

Here are a few ways that helped me:

• Create a ritual of remembrance. Light a candle, share a memory, or set a place in their honor. Small gestures keep their presence woven into the day.
• Allow new traditions to emerge. At first, it feels wrong to do things differently. But creating fresh rituals doesn’t erase the past; it gives your present room to breathe.
• Give yourself grace. Some years the tears come more easily. Other years, you’ll find laughter feels natural again. Both are okay.

What I know now is that joy and grief can coexist. You can miss someone with every ounce of your being and still find warmth in the twinkling lights, still laugh with your children, still taste sweetness in the season.

The empty chair will always be there. And yes, it will always ache. But over the years, I’ve come to see it not only as a symbol of absence, but of love. Love so deep that it lingers, even when the person is gone.

This season, instead of trying to hide from the emptiness, I set my table with both grief and gratitude. Because if the holidays are about anything, it’s about love. And love doesn’t end.