December arrives with twinkling lights, festive music, and the scent of cinnamon and pine filling the air. For many, it’s the most magical month of the year. For those of us who have loved and lost, it is a reminder of absence—a season when the empty spaces at the table, the unspoken laughter, and the traditions we once shared can ache the most.

This December, I feel the quiet echo of those who have transitioned. I remember the mornings we spent decorating, the songs we sang together, the warm hugs that made the winter feel a little brighter. Their presence is no longer physical, but it is not gone. It lingers in memory, in ritual, in the love that shaped our holidays.

Some days, the grief sits heavy like snow on a branch, waiting for a moment to fall. Other days, it drifts quietly in the background, reminding me that it is okay to feel both sorrow and gratitude at the same time. I visit that cell of mourning sometimes, allowing myself to remember the hugs, the smiles, the gentle voices. And then I leave, carrying them with me into the celebration of life that continues around me.

December teaches me that love is stronger than absence. That the joy we once shared is not lost, even if the person is no longer here. I honor the traditions we built, the laughter we shared, and the lessons they left behind. I light a candle, I speak their names, I feel their warmth, and I continue forward, even when the season reminds me of what I miss.

The holidays will always come with both joy and sorrow. But this December, I choose to hold both: to grieve, to remember, and to celebrate. Because even in their absence, they are still here—guiding me, loving me, reminding me that no one truly leaves those who carry their memory in their hearts.

The season may be bright with lights, but it is brighter still with love that never fades.