Last year, the holidays did not feel real.
Danny had just passed, and everything around us was blurred. We were surrounded by people, meals, calls, and constant noise. It felt like the world was holding us up because we did not know how to stand on our own yet. Shock protected us from the full weight of what had just happened.
Now we are here again in the second season without him.
And in many ways, this year feels harder.
Last year, we were never alone. Friends and family stopped by, checked in, and made sure the house was always filled with something to distract us from the silence. Today the house is much quieter. Not in a bad way, but in a way that makes everything feel more real.
A few weeks ago, I went into the basement to pull out our Christmas tree. The same tree we used for years. The one he always fluffed because he said I didn't fluff it enough. The one we decorated together every December with ornaments we collected over time. Some from holidays, some from trips, many from Luca's childhood, and some that were simple and silly but meant everything to us.
One of them had his initial on it. The letter D.
I stood there, staring at the box, and my chest tightened.
I could not open it.
I could not reach for a single ornament.
I could not face the pieces of a life that looked so different now.
The reality was too heavy.
The memories were too sharp.
The grief felt too fresh, even a year later.
So, I closed the box.
Walked away.
And bought a brand-new tree.
Not because the old one was damaged.
Not because I wanted a new tradition.
But because my heart was not ready to touch the tree, we built our life around. I could not unpack a version of our family that does not exist in the same way anymore.
The new tree arrived a few days later. Simple. Neutral. A blank canvas with no memories attached. Decorating it felt quieter and slower. It felt different, but it felt manageable. And right now, manageable is enough.
Grief works in strange rhythms.
Some things you can do.
Some things you cannot.
Some moments feel possible, and others feel impossible.
This time of year, is complicated.
There are moments that feel peaceful and warm.
There are also moments where the silence feels loud and the missing feels heavier.
Last year was survival.
This year is reality.
So, I have been creating small pockets of comfort.
Soft lighting in the evenings.
Warm blankets.
Candles that make the house feel alive.
Simple holiday touches that feel gentle instead of overwhelming. Nothing rushed. Nothing forced.
If you are moving through your own season of grief or change, I hope you know that what you are feeling is valid. You do not have to open the boxes you are not ready to open. You do not have to follow traditions that are too painful. You can create new moments and keep old ones safely tucked away until your heart feels stronger.
Below are a few cozy things that have helped bring peace to my home this season. Affiliate links included.
Holiday Comforts That Made This Season Softer
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A new tree that did not carry emotional weight: https://amzn.to/4acl54T
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Winter candles that make the house feel warm: https://amzn.to/4pClthP
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Soft lights for quiet evenings: https://amzn.to/4rjOS1F
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Cozy blankets for comfort: https://amzn.to/48i0Dgm
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A simple holiday wreath: https://amzn.to/4aclMLx
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Neutral Christmas stockings that feel peaceful: https://amzn.to/4820H59
If This Season Feels Heavy for You Too
I hope you find gentle moments of comfort.
I hope you let yourself do what feels right for your heart.
And I hope you know that you are not alone.
If you want to see the holiday comforts that helped me this year, I put them together here:
Shop My Holiday Comforts Amazon Holiday Home Decor & More – Haven 34 & Co.
Sending love to anyone who is navigating their own quiet season.