My husband, Dan, was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer on our third wedding anniversary. That was the first of many celebrations that were never the same. Rather than celebrating another year together with many more to look forward to, we found ourselves counting years of survival, never taking the future for granted.That first Thanksgiving, Dan’s new chemotherapy side effects hit hard while we were at his brother’s house for dinner. His mouth was so sore he couldn’t even eat.
We endured seven holiday seasons like that. Some Christmases were overshadowed by scan results that brought treatment changes, new side effects, and the constant uncertainty of what the future held.
When Dan passed away in the spring of 2019, everything changed. What made things harder was the onset of COVID-19. In those first couple of years, we were diligent about isolating, which meant we didn’t attend gatherings with my husband’s side of the family. I worried this gave them the impression that we didn’t want to continue those traditions now that Dan was gone.
My three kids each had different feelings about how to approach the holiday season, with its mix of good and painful memories. I vividly remember our first Christmas without Dan. I barely managed to put up the pre-lit tree, and when I finally did, half the lights had burned out. It felt like nothing was going right. All I wanted was to climb into bed, pull the covers over my head, and stay there until spring.
Instead, on Christmas morning, we had an open and honest conversation. We talked about the memories that were so precious to us but would never happen again because Dan, an integral part of our traditions, was gone.
We also discussed what we wanted holidays to look like going forward. For example, we decided to dress in comfy clothes—or even pajamas. We brainstormed foods we could try for various occasions. I reassured my kids that they didn’t need to feel pressured to come on a specific day as they got older and started families of their own.
Over the years, that conversation proved invaluable. We created a new tradition of choosing a day just for ourselves, which didn’t have to fall on the holiday itself. We valued time together, and that didn’t need to correspond to a specific date. Since then, we’ve celebrated in countless ways, always prioritizing enjoyment over obligation.
Recognize that you’re going through a difficult time. Healing is an effort in itself. It’s okay to say no—even to things you would normally enjoy—if you don’t have it in you this time around.
After Dan died, we didn’t celebrate Father’s Day for five years. This past year, we got together on that day and opened a couple of boxes of his belongings that had been packed away since his death. My son chose not to attend because it would have been too difficult for him, and we all understood. I was proud of him for taking care of his emotional needs.
By the way, Jack’s offers a program for sequel makers called Emptying Your Boxes. It’s designed for people who have a few boxes tucked away that they haven’t been able to go through but feel ready to tackle. We’ll pair you with someone who has been there themselves.
Since change is life’s only constant, embrace flexibility in how you celebrate and create traditions. For example, there were a few Christmases when our family made tamales together. This year, my daughter and her husband are bringing their favorite lasagna from Lindale Liquor Store’s deli. It’s a simple choice that saves us time and energy, allowing us to focus on each other.
Be okay with letting go of traditions that no longer fit your circumstances. Create new ones based on what brings you joy, not out of a sense of obligation.
This year, I gave our family Christmas tree to my daughter, who moved out this past summer. It was just too much for me to decorate and put away each year. I got a smaller tree that I can enjoy without feeling overwhelmed.
I felt guilty for not living up to old standards until my kids and I had that conversation. Now, we revisit it each year in the months leading up to the winter holidays. It’s our way of staying flexible and honoring one another’s needs.
Whether you’re a Caregiver or a Sequel Maker, your family’s holidays likely carry a mix of anticipation, anxiety, disappointment, and good times. I hope the good times outweigh the tough ones and that you have people you can lean on and talk to. If you don’t, reach out to us at Jack’s Caregiver Coalition. We’ve all been caregivers ourselves and know how valuable it is to talk with someone who truly gets it.