The Q life Grief Journey

Christmas is quickly approaching, and the world seems to be moving toward joy, lights on, music playing, people talking about traditions and plans. But for me, this season feels different now. It carries a weight I’ve never known before, because this will be the first Christmas without Quinten.

I’ve always known Christmas as a time of gathering, warmth, laughter, food, and familiar faces. Quinten was woven into all of it. His presence, his hugs, his way of being in the room made the holiday feel complete. And now, everywhere I look, I see the place where he should be.

Grief has a way of changing even the most cherished traditions. Things that once brought comfort can now bring tears. Decorations feel heavier. Songs land differently. Even the calendar feels cruel as it marches toward a day that can never look the same again.

I find myself wondering how to do Christmas now.
How to honor the joy without feeling disloyal to the grief.
How to create moments for the rest of the family while carrying the ache of his absence.

Some days, I want to skip it altogether. Other days, I want to hold it close, not as it used to be, but as it must be now. Slower. Softer. With room for tears as well as love.

I know Quinten would never want Christmas to be only sad. He was too full of life, too full of fun, too full of love for that. And so, I’m learning that this first Christmas isn’t about pretending everything is okay. It’s about allowing it to be exactly what it is, tender, imperfect, and deeply meaningful.

There will be moments when the grief feels sharp. Moments when I miss his hugs so badly that it takes my breath away. And there will also be moments when love rises up in memories, in quiet laughter, in the presence of those who are still here.

This Christmas won’t look like the ones before. And that truth hurts. But it is also a reminder of how deeply Quinten was loved, and how much his life mattered.

As this first Christmas approaches, I’m holding space for both the sorrow and the love. I’m learning that even in the absence, love still shows up. It just does so differently now.

And so, I will walk into this holiday gently.
With an open heart.
With grace for myself.
And with the quiet hope that love, his love, will still find its way into our home.

Because even in loss, love remains.