Grief doesn’t just live in the mind; it echoes through the body, the calendar, and the objects we keep. We open up about what holidays feel like when gratitude rings hollow, how traditions can cut like glass, and why making new rituals—planting a tree, choosing a favorite dessert, shrinking plans to match your energy—can turn survival into gentler remembrance. From panic on New Year’s to tears set off by a random song, we dig into how triggers work and why fighting them often hurts more than feeling them.

We also get honest about milestones and the ache of joy without the person you want beside you—boot camp graduations, family weddings, new babies, and the quiet wish to make one more phone call. Along the way, we tackle the surprising power of things: a round pedestal dining table that once symbolized a shared life became an obstacle after loss. Moving it out wasn’t erasing love; it was reclaiming space for who we are now. The same goes for bins of belongings slowly pared down over time. They are not in the things, and keeping becomes care until keeping starts to wound.

What helps when the stitches rip for a minute? Triage. Sometimes you sit and sob. Sometimes you garden. Sometimes you turn off a show, write down a memory, or breathe until the wave passes. We don’t pretend there’s a neat timeline. The wound can reopen at your lowest lows and highest highs, and that doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you loved well. There is room for both—joy and sorrow, hope and hurt—and each small glimmer counts.

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