The holidays are coming. Or they're here. Or they just happened and you're trying to recover.
Whatever they look like for you — Christmas, Hanukkah, Eid, Diwali, Lunar New Year, Thanksgiving, a family reunion, a tradition that belongs to your household — the shape of them has changed. There's a gap where someone used to be, and the holiday is designed to make that gap as visible as possible.
Holidays are built around togetherness. That's what makes them so difficult after a loss. Every tradition, every ritual, every seat at the table assumes a complete set of people. When someone is missing, the absence isn't just emotional — it's structural. The carving of the turkey that they always did. The present under the tree with their name on it. The toast that someone has to give or deliberately not give.
After suicide, the holiday carries an extra weight. The person isn't just missing — they chose to leave. That thought can be especially more than you can hold in a room full of family, surrounded by everything they walked away from.
People around you may not know what to do. Some will avoid mentioning the person entirely, as if pretending they didn't exist will make the holiday easier. Others will mention them constantly, trying to include them, which can be either comforting or painful depending on the moment. Some will say the wrong thing. Some will say nothing at all.
None of them know what you need. You might not know what you need either. That's normal.
You have options. You don't have to do the holiday the way you've always done it. You can skip traditions. You can change them. You can leave early. You can stay home entirely. You can create something new — a candle, a toast, an empty plate, a walk to their favourite place.
You can also do it exactly the way you always have, and let the gap be there, and let it hurt, and survive it.
There's no version of this that doesn't hurt. The question isn't how to make it painless — it's how to make it survivable. And that looks different for everyone and different every year.
If there are other people in your grief — family, a partner, children — their needs may be different from yours. One person might want to talk about the person all day. Another might need to pretend it's a normal holiday for a few hours. Both of these can be true at the same table, and navigating that is its own form of exhaustion.
If you can, tell someone what you need before the day. Even if it's just: "I might need to leave the room. Don't follow me." Or: "Please say their name." Small instructions can take enormous pressure off the day.