When I think of Christmas prior to 2017, I immediately think of being back at home, so excited for the “Family Hamper” to arrive, and then waiting for everyone to be home so we could open it together and see what was inside.
I remember going to see The Muppets Christmas Carol with my dad and brother, hearing the Salvation Army Brass Band playing carols in the town centre, watching National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, and having the whole family round on Christmas Day.
I could honestly write a whole blog just on the warm and lovely memories I have of the build-up to Christmas and the day itself.

I also remember the harder times, when I felt pulled between going out with friends or spending time with family.

Life changed for us as a family in August 2017 when my mam passed away. Life as I knew it changed forever.
As time went on, I found myself surrounded by twinkling lights, Hallmark films, laughter, love, and happiness. My mam loved Christmas, so her absence was and still is greatly missed during this season (and always).

I believe that events that happen annually, like Christmas and birthdays, can bring a new wave of grief each year. Although we’re told that time is a healer, from my own personal experience, that’s not the case when it comes to losing someone you love.

The First Christmas Without Mam

If I could have gone to sleep or just skipped the first Christmas without Mam, I absolutely would have taken that option.
The pressure to put on a “brave face” was really felt, and I’m sure my family felt the same too.

We spent Christmas at my brother and sister-in-law’s house, a place where we’d shared many happy memories together.
After opening gifts, I took a moment to myself. While showering, I found myself talking out loud to my mam. I told her I was struggling and didn’t know how I was going to get through the rest of the day.
As I reached for the shampoo, I happened to glance at the name on the bottle. It read, “Bee Strong.”

I laughed when I saw it. I absolutely believe this was a message from my mam, offering comfort and support in any way she could.
Although the sadness and weight of loss didn’t disappear, I felt comforted knowing she was around us, not in person but in spirit. The day felt that bit easier, and I felt I’d been given permission to try and enjoy it.

Even though the day was a constant reminder that someone so important was missing from the family table, I felt comforted knowing Mam was still with me, just in a different way now. And somehow, that made things feel okay.

The Nature of Grief It Comes in Waves

I smiled when I came up with this title for this section. In my mind, I said, “Wave? More like tsunami.”

One thing I’ve learned from my own experience of loss is that grief isn’t a straight line. The stages of grief can give us an idea of what we might feel, but the reality is far messier. For me, it definitely wasn’t straightforward.

Imagine a shoreline with calm, gentle waves and the soothing sound of the sea. Then suddenly, a huge wave crashes in and takes you by surprise. That’s what grief feels like to me. It creeps up unexpectedly and can completely take you off guard.

Julia Samuel talks about this in her book This Too Shall Pass, describing how grief isn’t linear and can come in waves. I absolutely felt that on Christmas Day. One moment we were pulling crackers, and the next I was overwhelmed with sadness, missing my mam’s homemade stuffing balls.

That feeling didn’t magically disappear on Boxing Day. I still experience waves of grief now, even eight years later. Just like the sea, when the waves roll in, they bring things up from the seabed, feelings, memories, and moments that you might not have seen or felt for a long time.

The Stages of Grief

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’s model, the Stages of Grief, describes what we might experience during loss. Although this blog focuses on the loss of a loved one, these stages can also apply to other types of loss such as a job, a friendship, a relationship, or even a sense of identity. Change itself can bring grief.

Denial: “This can’t be happening.”
A sense of disbelief or shock that helps buffer the initial pain.

Anger: “Why is this happening? It’s not fair.”
Anger can be directed at people, situations, or even the person who died. It’s a natural response to feeling powerless and hurt.

Bargaining: “If only I had done this…”
A stage filled with “what ifs” and “if onlys.” It’s a way of trying to regain control when everything feels uncertain.

Depression: Deep sadness and withdrawal.
The reality of the loss sets in, and emotions can feel heavy or overwhelming.

Acceptance: “This has happened, and I can find a way to live with it.”
Acceptance doesn’t mean being “over it.” It’s about acknowledging the loss and learning to live alongside it.

What I learned pretty quickly is that grief isn’t linear. Everyone’s experience is different, even if you’re grieving the same person or situation.

I skipped denial and spent months feeling angry at the world, myself, even my mam. How dare she leave me? Some days I found acceptance with a sprinkle of anger. Other days I felt nothing. Even now, I still move in and out of these stages, maybe not for as long, but it still happens.

This isn’t a race to get to the end of the stages. In my experience, that’s not how it works. It’s about learning to live again with the loss, giving it space, time, and respect.

I’m not sure I’ve fully accepted that Mam isn’t here anymore. Maybe that’s because I still feel her in other ways, in rainbows, in sunrises, in the smell of her perfume, or even in that shampoo bottle on Christmas Day.

When Christmas comes around, I’m reminded that grief doesn’t stick to dates or seasons. It sneaks up when you least expect it, in a song, a smell, or while you’re laughing with loved ones. That first Christmas without her felt like a wave I couldn’t outrun. Even now, there are moments that catch me off guard. Over time though, I’ve realised those waves are really just love showing up in a different way, little reminders that she’s still around, just not how she used to be.

Finding Meaning and Continuing Bonds

Noticing the message my mam was sending me on Christmas Day in 2017 was a turning point. It made me pause and reflect, to recognise my strength, my journey, and the amazing people around me who offered love and support. They helped me maintain that continued bond with my mam.

I truly believe she was showing me that she’s still present. She just can’t send messages or give hugs in the same way anymore. I just have to look a little harder to notice the love she’s still sending.

I also like to think she has a bit of FOMO, fear of missing out, so she has no choice but to stay present with us.

Seeing her message, “Bee Strong,” reminded me that our bond wasn’t broken. Her love for me is still here. She’s still on my team, and that presence is enough.

Time Isn’t a Healer

I’d love to tell you that time is a healer, but honestly, I don’t believe it is. Time gives us space to reflect, to learn, and to find new ways to cope, but it doesn’t take the pain away. There isn’t a magic moment when the grief fades. Sadly, no Dumbledore appears on the first anniversary to wave a wand and heal your heart.

What time does is allow us to adjust. To stop reaching for the phone to share something, though I still do that even now. To find a new rhythm. To start living again, even with the ache.

I’ve learned that life doesn’t stand still, and if we want to keep living, we have to find our own way to move forward. For me, that meant laughter, lots of it. I’ve developed a dark sense of humour, and it’s helped me more than I can say. Finding joy and humour, even in the darkness, has been a big part of my healing.

This ties in beautifully with Person Centred Counselling, acceptance, empathy, and finding ways to keep growing into the best version of ourselves, even through grief. Julia Samuel talks about this too, describing themes of compassion, acceptance, and growth through loss.

Closing Reflection

With the support of my partner, amazing family, and wonderful friends, I’ve learnt to find joy in Christmas again. I love the lights, the warmth, the carols, the cheesy films, and of course, the food and drink. To sound a little cheesy, and honestly, who doesn’t love cheese at Christmas, the true meaning of this season for me is family, friends, remembering those who can’t physically sit at the table, and continuing the traditions they created.

Christmas will always carry a little ache for me, and I’m learning that that’s okay. Grief can feel like love with nowhere to go, but I’ve found that love still finds a way to reach us. Maybe through a song, a smell, or even a shampoo bottle whispering, “Bee Strong.”

So that is how I want to sign off this blog, during a time of year that can feel difficult, strained, and triggering. Bee Strong, and Bee Kind to yourself.