How to Support a Grieving Friend During the Holiday Season
The holiday season has a way of turning the volume up on whatever someone is already feeling. For anyone grieving, that volume can get loud fast. The lights, the traditions, the soundtrack in every store… everything becomes a contrast between what was, what is, and what’s now missing. If someone you care about is grieving this season, your presence can matter more than you realize.
When grief is fresh, the holidays hit like a second wave
My sister Emily passed in October, so the holidays arrived before the shock had even stopped ringing in my ears. I didn’t have time to “prepare,” whatever that means. I walked straight from raw disbelief into garland, gift wrap, and the first year of every holiday without her.
That stretch between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning — the hours that used to be our favorite — felt completely different. Those memories are still precious, but they carry an undertone now, like someone dimmed the light by just a few degrees.
If your friend is in that same place, understand that they’re navigating two timelines at once: the holiday world happening around them, and the one they lost.
The most comforting thing you can say isn’t inspirational at all
People often panic and reach for cheer, perspective, or gratitude. But the most healing words I’ve ever received during the holidays were simple:
“I know. I miss her too.”
That sentence lands softly. It doesn’t push. It doesn’t try to fix. It just tells you you’re not the only one who remembers.
If you want to support a grieving friend, don’t be afraid to acknowledge who they’re missing. Use their loved one’s name. You’re not “reminding” them of anything — trust me, grief doesn’t take holidays off.
Offer something concrete. Grief steals a person’s ability to delegate.
“Let me know if you need anything” becomes unusable during grief. The mental load is too heavy. Instead, offer small, grounded support:
“I’m dropping off dinner Tuesday. Any allergies I should know about?”
“Want company while you wrap gifts?”
“I’m running to Target — do you need anything?”
Make space for the person they lost
One thing I do during the holidays is take a quiet moment to honor Emily. Sometimes it’s as simple as letting myself feel the wave instead of trying to dilute it. You can be the friend who makes that space feel acceptable. Ask gentle questions. Share a memory if you have one. Follow their lead.
And if your friend wants to include their person in a holiday ritual — a candle, an ornament, a recipe — let that be okay too. It’s not clinging to the past. It’s carrying love forward.
Understand that joy and sadness will coexist
Growing up, Christmas was magical for my family. My parents went full production mode with paw prints in the snow and gifts on the roof. was four years older than me and had long outgrown Santa before I was willing to admit he wasn’t climbing down our chimney. One year, I tried to convince her we should stay up all night to catch him, and she very seriously informed me that Santa might not deliver presents if we were “waiting to test his magical existence.”
Later, when we were older, Emily and I stayed up all night watching the entire BBC Pride and Prejudice miniseries. It became our tradition.
These moments are still warm in my memory — just layered now. That’s how grief works during the holidays. It doesn’t erase joy; it just mixes with it.
Plans might change, and that isn’t personal
Grief is unpredictable. Your friend might make plans and then feel unable to follow through. Don’t guilt them. Don’t keep score. A simple “Do what you need today” is enough.
Keep showing up after the season ends
January tends to hit harder than anyone expects. The decorations go away, the noise dies down, and people assume grief resets itself. It doesn’t. Continuing to check in after the holidays is one of the most meaningful ways to support someone you love.
A gentle truth
You can’t fix a grieving friend’s holiday season, and you’re not supposed to. What you can do is stand with them in the small, quiet ways that matter. Grief doesn’t need cheerfulness. It needs steadiness. And the people who offer that become anchors in someone’s hardest season.