There's a moment every year, usually in a supermarket in early November, when the Christmas music starts.
For most people it's a little flutter of excitement. But if you've lost someone this year, that same song can stop you dead in the middle of the biscuit aisle.
The first Christmas after a loss is its own particular kind of hard. The world gets louder and brighter and more insistent that everyone should be happy, just as you're learning to live with a gap at the table.
I'm Chelsea, this is Storme Diaries, and today I want to talk gently about getting through the festive season when you're grieving, especially if, like so many of us, you've got little ones who are still very much expecting the magic.
Why Christmas Can Hurt So Much
Christmas is built on tradition. And traditions are built on people.
The person who always carved the turkey. The one who rang first thing on Christmas morning. The handwriting on the gift tags. The chair they always sat in.
When someone is missing, every one of those little rituals becomes a reminder.
There's also the pressure. Christmas comes with a script: be merry, be grateful, be together. Grief doesn't follow scripts, and trying to force it to can leave you feeling like you're failing at both.
“"Grief doesn't take a day off for Christmas. And you don't have to pretend it has."
You Don't Have To Do It The Way You Always Have
This is the permission slip I wish someone had handed me.
You don't have to host. You don't have to go to everything. You don't have to send cards, or you can send three instead of thirty.
Some families find comfort in keeping every tradition exactly the same. Others need to change everything this year, a different house, a different meal, a walk instead of the big sit-down dinner.
Neither is wrong. The only rule is to do what makes the day bearable for you.
It can help to talk it through as a family in November rather than on Christmas Eve, so nobody is guessing what everyone else needs.
Finding Ways To Include Them
For a lot of people, the hardest thing is the feeling that the person they've lost is being forgotten in all the noise.
So many families find small ways to bring them into the day.
Lighting a candle for them at dinner. Hanging a special bauble on the tree. Cooking their signature dish, even if nobody makes the trifle quite like they did.
Raising a glass and saying their name out loud. Sharing a favourite memory over pudding. Visiting a special place on Boxing Day.
Saying their name won't make anyone sadder. Usually, it's a relief. It tells everyone at the table that it's okay to miss them.
Grieving When Little Ones Still Want The Magic
This is the bit that makes my heart ache for anyone going through it.
Children still want stockings and elves and mince pies left out. And you might be running on empty, trying to create joy you can't quite feel.
Please hear this: you don't have to be the Christmas fairy this year. Simple is more than enough. Children remember feeling safe and loved far more than they remember the size of the pile under the tree.
Let others help with the magic. Grandparents, aunties, friends, a partner who can take the wrapping off your hands.
And it's okay for children to see you sad. Gently explaining that you miss someone, and that it's okay to feel happy and sad on the same day, teaches them something really precious about love and loss.
If your children are grieving too, follow their lead. Some want to talk and make memory crafts. Others want a completely normal Christmas. Both are healthy.
Getting Through The Day Itself
Have an exit plan. Knowing you can slip out for a walk, or leave early, makes it easier to turn up at all.
Pick your people. Spend time with those who let you be exactly as you are, not the ones who need you to be fine.
Build in rest. Grief is tiring. Add the late nights, the rich food, the travelling and the noise, and you'll need more downtime than usual.
Expect the waves. You might be okay at lunch and fall apart at the King's Speech, or in our house, during a Christmas advert. That isn't going backwards. That's just grief.
Be careful with alcohol. A drink can feel like it softens the edges, but for a lot of people it makes the low moments lower.
The Bit Nobody Mentions: The Build-Up
Sometimes the run-up is harder than the day itself.
The adverts. The nativity. The work party. Writing the cards and pausing over a name you'd normally write.
If December feels heavier than you expected, that's very normal. You can step back from some of it. You can mute things online. You can take it one day at a time.
If This Is Your First Christmas After Baby Loss
If you've lost a baby this year, Christmas can carry a very particular grief, for the first Christmas you'd imagined, and the stocking that won't be filled.
Your baby mattered, however early or however late you lost them. It's okay to mark that, in whatever way feels right, even if the people around you don't quite know what to say.
Getting Support
You don't have to carry this alone.
Cruse Bereavement Support offers support for anyone who is grieving, and Sands supports anyone affected by the death of a baby. Your GP can also help if grief is feeling too heavy to manage.
If you're struggling to cope or feeling unsafe, please reach out to Samaritans any time, day or night, on 116 123. It's free and you don't have to be in crisis to call.
What I Want You To Know
There's no right way to do the first Christmas after losing someone.
You might cry in the kitchen. You might laugh until your sides hurt at a memory, and then feel guilty for laughing. You might skip the whole thing and watch films in your pyjamas.
All of it is allowed.
Love doesn't stop because someone isn't here. And on the hardest days, that love is still the thing holding you up.
Be so gentle with yourself this season. 🕯️🤍