- - The Most Wonderful Time of the Year? Not for Everyone…

Katie CouricDecember 19, 2025 at 11:30 PM

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The Most Wonderful Time of the Year? Not for Everyone…

Last week, I found myself lying in what felt to be a cross between a cocoon and a casket. The dreaded MRI machine. I was at the Hospital for Special Surgery getting a high contrast scan of my pancreas. My sister Emily died of pancreatic cancer when she was just 54 years old and now my sister, brother and I, along with Emily’s two sons, are screened regularly for pancreatic cancer. As I laid in the supine position, listening to the clanging of the machine, the whirring of whatever was taking the images, and the voice — barely audible with the earplugs they had instructed me to use — telling me to “hold my breath” and after 15 seconds, to breathe, I felt grateful that this was a once-a-year occurrence. As I felt the cold contrast dye entering first my arm and traveling through my body, I started thinking about people who are sick during the holidays. It’s such an incongruous experience. All the merrymaking, the festive decorations, the precious family time. I remember it so well from when my husband Jay was sick. The holidays can become a heartbreaking reminder of an uncertain future that can feel like a sword of Damocles hanging over your head.

I know many people who are dealing with frightening illnesses right now. A good friend of mine was diagnosed this year with glioblastoma. I recently spoke to a friend of a friend of a friend whose son — at just 33 years old — is fighting stage 4 colorectal cancer. My friend Brian continues to valiantly battle the erosion of his body from ALS. Another friend, Allie, in her 40s, is chronicling her experience with Parkinson’s on social media. These are just a few people in my circle. There are millions of others, those I’ve never met, who are facing health challenges that have disrupted their lives and are weighing heavily on them and their families.

I wanted to just remind everyone that there are a lot of people you probably know who are struggling through the holidays. For some, the most wonderful time of the year can be the most difficult. Remember to reach out and as Otis Redding sang, “Try a little tenderness.” Don’t be afraid to offer help or just send love to these fragile friends who need support.

Meanwhile, the holiday season can mean a different kind of heartache for those who are grieving, a process that may lessen, but never really ends — that’s why the word “closure” became anathema to those dealing with loss. When Amanda Kloots shared the nightmare of her husband Nick’s COVID diagnosis and later, his tragic death, my heart broke in a million pieces. Because I was widowed around her age, I reached out to see if I could help. I wish someone had done that when I was traversing that terrifying new territory 27 years ago. Amanda and I became friends. When Kelly Rizzo lost her husband Bob Saget almost four years ago, Amanda and I reached out to Kelly and brought her into our widowhood fold. (I remember taking Kelly out to dinner. In retrospect, it was way too early for her and she was still really in a daze of grief and confusion. We’re sorry Kelly!) Kelly, Amanda, and I have become close and I’m so happy they're in LA and can call on each other on those inevitable days when it’s hard to get out of bed.

I recently saw that Amanda had posted the fact that this would be her fifth Christmas without Nick. I never knew Nick, but a few weeks ago, I met someone who knew them both from their Broadway days and told me that Nick was “the coolest guy.” I smiled. Their son Elvis is six years old. So I pinged Amanda and Kelly on our text thread and asked them, “Would you be willing to write something about the holidays and loss and how people can help?” They both said yes. I really love these two.

Everyone’s experience with loss and grief is different, but I think their words will resonate with anyone who is in their shoes — and will provide wonderful guidance to those who want to be there for them.

How to Show Up for Someone Who’s Grieving This Holiday Season, by Kelly Rizzo

The holidays can be incredibly complicated, even when life is going well. But add in the loss of a loved one, and this season can become painful — even dreaded. A person grieving a significant loss can feel confused, distracted, anxious, fearful, and depressed, all because the “happiest time of year” is suddenly upon them. I understand that feeling well, though I wish I didn't: I lost my husband four years ago, and the holidays can still be incredibly tough.

There's no way to "fix" what a grieving person is going through. No amount of caroling or presents can replace what they've lost. But there are things that we, as friends and loved ones, can do to help make their holiday season a bit easier, and maybe even a bit brighter.

My husband Bob loved the holidays. Thanksgiving was his absolute favorite, and I was blessed to spend six of them with him and his (our) family. And interestingly enough, even though we had been together for six years at the time of his passing, we only spent one Christmas together. Spending Christmas with my family in Chicago was always a non-negotiable for me, and Bob was not a huge fan of the cold. (Who is?) So he'd stay in LA with his daughters, and I would always meet them on December 26, so we could take an incredible vacation together through the new year. It was such a special time, with so many wonderful memories.

However, in December of 2021 — just two weeks before Bob passed — he chose to come spend Christmas with me and my family in Chicago. He also brought his amazing daughter, my stepdaughter, Lara. It was such a celebration: My family was beyond-thrilled that Bob was making the trip to snowy Chicago for a holiday that meant so much to us. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for that last Christmas with him.

The writer and her late husband, Bob

After Bob passed away, I was nervous about the holidays creeping up. Would it be painful? Would I be honoring him properly? Would I cry the whole time? But what helped me most was spending the holidays with people who loved Bob, too. That following Thanksgiving, we got together in LA and talked about him, celebrated him, and made him a huge part of the day.

If you have a loved one who's going through a difficult time this holiday season because they lost someone dear to them, here are a few things you can do to help them feel supported, and hopefully bring them a bit of cheer.

Help make their person a part of the holidays.

Talk about them. Bring them up. Watch their favorite Christmas movie (Bob’s was It’s a Wonderful Life). Make their favorite cocktail or dish. Look at photos or watch old videos. The most painful part of grief is missing the person. Keeping their memory present can ease that longing, even if only a little.

Show up — authentically

Make sure your friend or loved one isn't alone. Maybe the person they lost was their family, and

now they have no one to spend the holiday with. People who are grieving often don't know what they need — or if they do, they may be too scared or unsure to ask for it. So just be there. Sit with them. Make sure they're cared for.

My dear friend Rabbi Steve Leder says, “Show up as your authentic self. If you're a hugger, hug. If you're a joker, joke. If you're a chef, cook something.” People get so nervous about doing or saying the wrong thing. But if you show up as the person they have always known you to be, you can't go wrong.

Bob was always incredible at this: He had zero fear about calling someone or showing up at their door, even 10 minutes after they'd lost a loved one. He would tell a joke, or simply sit with them. He did not avoid their pain — he met it head-on. I was always blown away by his ability to comfort those who were grieving. Now I try to take the lessons he taught me and offer that same comfort to others.

Don't assume that time heals all wounds

Grief is a lifelong challenge. It ebbs and flows — some days are easier than others — but it never really goes away. So even years later, it means so much when someone checks in and says, “Hey, want to talk about [your person]?” or “Let’s do something to celebrate them.” Remembering them and speaking their name can be exactly the comfort someone needs to get through the holiday season.

For me, sharing memories of Bob and talking about him brings me so much joy. But everyone is different, and some people may be more sensitive or have different boundaries. Still, the simple act of reaching out, sitting with someone in their grief, and remembering their loved one with compassion and dignity is one of the greatest gifts you can give — at this, or any other time of the year.

Grief Doesn’t Take a Holiday — and Neither Should Compassion, by Amanda Kloots

Every year around this time, I get asked the same question: “What do I do for someone who's grieving during the holidays?”

People want a script — what to say, what not to say, what gesture will land, what might accidentally hurt. And as someone who has been on both sides — the griever and the friend — I can tell you: it’s not as complicated as we make it. But it does require intention, softness, patience, and sometimes a little bravery.

If you’ve lived through loss, you already know more than you think. There’s an invisible backpack you start to carry — filled with tools, truths, and things you only learn the hard way. You don’t ask for this backpack, but once it’s on you, you recognize the weight someone else is carrying right away. And when you meet someone who’s drowning in their own loss, you instinctively want to take that backpack off, dig around, and hand them something that might help them breathe again. I’ve come to see that as a responsibility — to share what I’ve learned, to pay it forward, to help people help each other.

But first, let me take you back.

This Christmas will be my fifth without my husband. I wish I could tell you the holidays don’t hurt anymore… but they still do. Grief softens around the edges, but it doesn’t disappear. It shapeshifts. Some years it whispers. Some years it roars. And every year, as I watch my son get older — excited about Santa, pointing out lights, counting down days — the sting feels new again.

The writer, her son Elvis, and her late husband Nick

I’ve learned to ride the waves better now. In the beginning, I was like a new surfer trying to stand on a board in an unpredictable ocean. I was knocked down constantly. Now, I can ride more of them. But grief-waves aren’t polite — some are short, some are long, some knock you clean off your board and leave you tumbling underwater, grasping for air. And the holidays? They tend to stir up the biggest sets.

My first Christmas, I cried so hard in church on Christmas Eve that I thought my chest would crack open. The lights dimmed, I held my candle, we sang “Silent Night,” and the tears poured. On Christmas Day, I survived minute by minute — sneaking into empty rooms, burying my face in a pillow so no one would hear me sob.

I share this not to be dramatic, but to be honest. Grievers hide their pain astonishingly well. We can look strong, composed, “so brave”— and then fall apart the moment we step out of the room. So when you ask, “How do I help?” that’s the first thing to understand. Your friend is likely struggling more than you see.

Take the pressure off

One thing I didn’t expect in early grief was the pressure — the overwhelming, crushing pressure to write back or respond. People were so kind: They sent flowers, meals, cards, gifts. But I couldn’t keep track. I couldn’t process. And I certainly couldn’t reply. I could barely breathe. And then came the guilt: I should say thank you. I should be grateful. I should respond.

Grievers are drowning in “shoulds.” So if you want to help someone, the best gift you can give them is to remove the pressure.

Send a text that says, “Thinking of you. DO NOT REPLY.” It’s magic. It lets them feel loved without needing to perform gratitude in return.

Or stop by their house with a firm but gentle timeline, like, “I’m here for 30 minutes unless you want me to stay longer.” This gives them control — something grief steals.

Send flowers or a meal with absolutely zero expectation of hearing back. Don’t add pressure to an already impossible season.

Make the decision for them (lovingly)

Loneliness is one of grief’s cruelest tricks. You want company, but you’re terrified to leave the house. Triggers are everywhere — a song, a family photo, even the sound of laughter can knock the breath out of you. Big groups might help… or they might send you spiraling. Grief makes everything unpredictable.

That’s why reaching out is so hard for grievers — the emotional math feels impossible. So you make it easy. Instead of asking, “Want to go ice skating tonight?” (which requires a decision someone in grief simply cannot make), try: “We’re going ice skating tonight — I already bought you a ticket. I’ll pick you up at 6.” They may still say no, but you’ve made saying yes unbelievably simple.

This tactic works for everyday tasks, too:

“I’m already at the grocery store — what can I grab for you?”

“I’m heading to the dry cleaner. Leave a bag on the porch and I’ll take it.”

You’re not asking them to choose. You’re offering support without making them feel like a burden — their biggest fear.

Don’t take anything personally

Grief rewires a person. It changes their energy, their capacity, their tolerance, their timing. Your friend may cancel plans, go quiet, say the wrong thing, or seem distant.

It’s not about you.

It’s not a lack of love.

It’s not ingratitude.

It’s grief — unpredictable, exhausting, all-consuming grief.

If someone you love is going through this, one of the greatest gifts you can offer is grace: Grace when they’re late. Grace when they’re scattered. Grace when they disappear for a bit. Hold your love steady.

Show up in small, consistent ways

Grief isn’t solved by one big gesture. It’s held together by 1,000 small ones.

A text.

A walk.

A coffee left on the doorstep.

A “thinking of you” card in January when everyone else has moved on.

You don’t need the perfect words — you just need to show up. And the good news? The bar is lower than you think. Grievers don’t need you to fix their pain. They only need to feel less alone in it.

The bottom line

If you’re reading this, you already care — that’s the most important part. Loving someone through loss is tender work. There is no single right way, no universal guidebook, no guaranteed fix. But there are ways to make someone feel seen, supported, and less overwhelmed during a season that amplifies everything — the joy and the ache.

So check in.

Stay gentle.

Ease pressure.

Make decisions for them when they can’t.

Don’t take their silence personally.

Give grace freely.

And remember: showing up matters more than saying the perfect thing.

The holidays can be brutally hard for grievers. But with the right support, with friends who are brave enough to step in rather than step back, the season can also hold moments of warmth, connection, and even glimmers of peace.

And that is a gift.

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