Tangled lights and Grief

I think as we get older our Christmas list gets shorter, cause things we want can’t be bought.

I love Christmas. Particularly the decorating part. I mentioned in previous posts about my mom’s love for Christmas. I recall fond memories of my mom decorating the entire house into her own creation of winter wonderland. She very often retold stories of how my grandma did not have a lot of money and yet she would always make Christmas special by decorating the house. This is one of many reasons why Christmas is a little more special to me.

One thing I do not particularly enjoy though is the lights for the Christmas tree. Each year is the same thing. Each Christmas season I dig out the Christmas decorations from the previous year- including the lights. The lights are always tangled up in a big pile of light strands and knots of all sorts. This pile of light strands needs to be be unraveled in order for them to work properly and to be hung on the tree or outside. This is why I have crossed over to having a pre-lit artificial tree.

The grief journey can most certainly remind us of these tangled lights. Our lives can be very tangled and several parts in knots. Each year we resolve ourselves to handle the holidays differently the next year and yet, somehow each year find ourselves in the same spot.

The holiday season has a way of amplifying our feelings and emotions. They range from joy, love, and hope to loss, grief, and longing. For those of us grieving, we are walking a maze through memories and raw emotions. Feelings such as being overwhelmed, exhaustion, and depression can take hold of our daily lives. Anxiety levels rise. We tie ourselves into knots just like the strand of lights with our list of the things to get done, juggling all the things we try to get around and do. This season can have you feeling unsure of how or where to begin the untangling. Life can feel like a big tangled mess. Grief is a big tangled mess.

As a widow, I am the human version of tangled Christmas lights. Some days, it feels like no matter how hard I try to be organized and keep going with daily life, I’m still a mess of knots and loops—confused, overwhelmed, and not sure where to start. My patience frays, my energy flickers, and I wonder if I’ll ever shine the way I’m supposed to.

But then, I remember: tangled or not, I still light up the room. I’m still here, doing my best, showing up for the people who need me. Even in the chaos, even when I feel like I’ve lost my way, my family and friends look at me and only see the glow. They see the love I weave into everything I do, even when it doesn’t feel perfect.

So maybe being tangled isn’t a failure. Maybe it’s just proof that I’m a widow (griever) who cares enough to keep going, even when it’s hard. After all, tangled lights still sparkle. And so do I.

This year, I’m letting the mess of grief coexist with the spirit of the season. I’m leaning into what feels right—whether it’s allowing tears to fall during a cherished holiday movie, lighting a candle, or skipping traditions that no longer feel comforting.

I’ve also learned to let others in. Grief can feel isolating, but sharing those messy, complicated emotions with someone who understands—even if they’re just sitting beside you in quiet support—can lighten the load.

So, if you’re carrying loss this season, give yourself permission to do the holidays your way. Let the mess remind you that love, even when it feels broken, is still love. The ones we’ve lost are still with us, not in perfectly wrapped memories but in the beautiful, imperfect ways they shaped who we are. And sometimes, that’s exactly what we need.

You are not alone. Let us be kind to one another. Let us make room for those broken souls who are experiencing a hard season. After all, one light bulb change can make a big difference.

PS- I found these cute little solar powered Christmas trees that can be placed into the ground and even left at gravesite (if cemetery allows it). A little Christmas light for my John.

Mark Schultz- Different Kind of Christmas