A Quiet Space for Grief This Holiday Season
A Virtual Memorial for those Enduring Loss This Season
You are welcome to listen to this reflection by clicking play abone.
Hello everyone,
During this time of year, many of us are navigating a complex season of joy, memory, and profound loss. I recently had the honor of leading a community memorial service, and I was moved to share the words from that gathering with you here.
Below, you will find the full text of that reflection. If you prefer to listen, you can press play on the audio version above.
My hope is that these words might serve as a quiet space for you to sit, to breathe, and to honor your own journey with grief, wherever you may be. Settle in, and receive these words as they are intended: as a gentle companion on your journey.
A Welcome to You
It is both a heavy and tender honor to share this space with you today. Simply showing up—simply being here to read these words—takes courage, and I want to begin by acknowledging that.
For many of us, the holiday season brings a complicated mix of joy and sadness, of cherished memories and palpable absence. This is a space for however you are feeling, and that is my deepest hope for our time together.
I want to extend my welcome to you, exactly as you are. Whether you are here with a heart full of sorrow, quiet numbness, or even a sense of peace, you are in the right place. Our culture often rushes past the realities of death and the journey of grief, and today, there is no rush. We will simply be present with one another, united in this profound, human experience of loss.
Please know that this is a space of agency and permission. There is no right or wrong way to feel. If you find you need to cry, or not cry; to pause your reading for a moment, or to simply sit and take some deep breaths, please feel the freedom to care for yourself in whatever way serves you best.
You are seen, you are welcome, and you are not alone.
A moment for quiet reflection.
A Reflection on Grief
One of the most challenging things about grief is that it’s unique to each of us. It’s like a fingerprint—no two experiences of grief are alike. For some, the loss was sudden, a disorienting shock to the system. For others, it came at the end of a long journey of subtle losses, a slow and sacred process of letting go.
However your story shows up today, your experience is valid. Your grief, however it shows up, is normal.
I often think of grief as a weight we learn to carry. At first, it can feel like a heavy, unmanageable ball that sits in our hearts. This weight isn’t the replacement for the one we cherish, but it lives next to that space—a cavern that no other person, place, or thing can ever satisfy. And that is okay. That heavy space is a testament to the love that was, and still is, very real.
The weight of this grief can feel heavier on certain days—birthdays, anniversaries, and days like these in the holiday season. The days of heavier grief don’t mean we are moving backward; it just means the love is being remembered.
The beautiful, hard truth about this weight that lives in us is that it may not ever get smaller. But we learn to grow. We learn to grow bigger around it. Our capacity for life, for compassion, for new joys, expands. We learn to carry the weight with a strength we didn’t know we had. It becomes part of us, not as a wound that never heals, but as a deep, internal presence that reminds us of the possibility of profound connection.
Living here in the Mission Valley, we understand the seasons. We know the sharp, bitter cold of winter is inevitable. We know about the snow that showed up and left and might return again. We know about the suddenness of a summer thunderstorm and the quiet stillness of an inversion. Grief is much the same—it has its own seasons, its own unpredictable weather patterns.
And you, and your grief, you are not the storm. You are the sky above it that holds all of it—the clouds, the rain, the stillness, and the brilliant sun that eventually breaks through.
You are the constant presence that witnesses the ever-changing weather of your heart.
A Moment of Stillness
I would now like to invite you into a shared moment of silence. This is a time to remember, to reflect, or to simply be still.
As we enter this quiet space, I offer a gentle practice that grounds us to this moment. This is only an invitation, so please only participate if it feels comfortable and right for you.
If you’d like, you can allow your eyes to gently close or simply soften your gaze in front of you.
Bring your awareness to the points of contact your body is making. Maybe you can feel the support of the chair beneath you, holding you.
Perhaps you can notice the feeling of your feet resting on the floor, connecting you to the earth beneath the building.
You might even rest a hand on your heart or in your lap, simply feeling the gentle weight and warmth of your own touch.
This is a way to anchor ourselves in this present moment, a reminder that we are here, held and supported, even with the swirling currents of memory and grief.
Take a few quiet breaths here before continuing.
A moment for quiet reflection.
A Closing Blessing
As we bring this time to a close, we are reminded that even in the deepest quiet, a small light can bring warmth and presence. Each flame represents a life, a memory, a love that continues to burn brightly in our hearts and minds.
The path of grief can feel lonely, especially as we head into the quiet months of winter. But as you read this, I hope you feel a sense of shared humanity. We are walking this well-worn path alongside one another.
There isn’t a shortcut through grief, and I wish I could take away the heartache of this journey for you. But what I can offer is this: the legacy of your beloved is honored every single day. It’s honored when you wake up and face the day. It’s honored in a quiet moment of memory, in the telling of a favorite story, in the simple, courageous act of continuing to live and love.
May you be gentle with yourselves this holiday season. May you find moments of peace amid the pain, and may you feel the enduring presence of the love you carry.
Thank you for sharing this space.
With deep care,
Andrew
P.S. If it feels right for you, feel free to share the name of a person you are holding in your heart in the comments below. We can create a quiet, digital vigil of remembrance together.