One of the best pieces of guidance I’ve ever received is “go slow to go fast.” And when it comes to navigating grief, wiser words were never spoken. When a loved one dies, a cherished relationship ends, we lose a job that’s brought us meaning, or a beloved family pet passes on, it can be especially hard to navigate the holidays, especially with the all the hubbub that accompanies the season.

The first holidays after the loss of a loved one can be particularly challenging as we feel a visceral sense of their absence as memories of holidays past return. The absence of our loved ones forces us to adjust the traditions we shared and begin to create new ones, as one chapter closes and a new one begins. And this process requires patience, self-care, and compassion, as the recalibration of who we are without their physical presence can’t be rushed.

I remember well the first Christmas following the loss of my mother. My brother and our spouses decided we needed to change our usual tradition which was sharing Christmas at our house in California. So we met my brother and his family in Colorado and rented a house near the ski slopes for a week, ten months following my mother’s death. We knew it would be too sad to repeat what we’d always done before without her with us. I lacked the energy to decorate the house and whenever I listened to Christmas music, it brought me to tears.

Being in a different location and doing different activities helped us navigate the sadness, and even find joy in unexpected moments. We didn’t forget my mother. We carried her with us. One day, following a morning of intense sledding with our seven-year-old niece, when we got back to the cabin, we decided to sit in the hot tub to warm up. A few minutes later, our niece Sophia bounded out of the hot tub in her bathing suit, jumped on the ground, and started making snow angels with her body in the snow. I could hear my mother’s voice as if she were sitting right there with us, “Get that child out of the snow this instant, Donna Ruth, or she’ll catch her death of cold.” Mama wasn’t physically present, but I had no doubt that she is still nearby.

The next day, we all went skiing on a gorgeous, sunny, and warm winter’s day. The kids took skiing lessons, as my wife Julie and I took the lift to the top of the hill after five year’s absence on skis.

On our last run down the hill that day, I hit a patch of ice, my body did a three-sixty, and my head slammed down on the ice near a tree. I was unconscious for several minutes, and as I awakened and saw the shimmering blue sky and puffy white clouds above, my first thought was, “I must have died and gone to heaven. At least I’ll get to spend Christmas with Mama.”

Julie’s tears tumbled down my face as she tried to shake me back to consciousness. And it was in that moment I realized that despite the heavy weight of sadness I’d carried for the past ten months since Mama’s death, that my place was here now. I sensed that the intensity of the heavy weight of grief I’d carried would soon begin to recede, and five months later, it had.

So if you’re experiencing loss in this season of light, be kind and patient with yourself. Go slow to go fast. Mix things up and do things differently than you normally would. Look for snow angels in the darkness, and they may appear in ways you least expect. Hold the ones you’ve loved and lost deep in the fissures of your heart, for they are never far away, even if they’re no longer here.

Wishing you all peace, love, comfort, and joy wherever you may find it during the holidays this year.