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The holidays have a way of holding up a mirror, reflecting who we’ve been, who we are, and what we imagined they would be. When you’re caring for someone with dementia, that reflection can feel especially poignant. Traditions that once felt somewhat effortless require planning- lots of planning. Moments that once brought uncomplicated joy may arrive tangled in a web of grief. I know this because I’m living it. Yet despite that, there can still be meaning. There can still be warmth. There can still be joy. I’ve learned that the holidays don’t disappear when dementia enters your life. They change.

It’s Okay to Grieve What Was

Before anything else, I want to say this, it’s okay to grieve. Grief doesn’t only belong to death. It belongs to change and the ambiguous loss caregivers know so well. It belongs to the realization that things won’t unfold the way they once did. It belongs to the absence of routines, conversations, or roles that were once so familiar you never imagined them ending.

For me, the holidays carry memories of Bruce being at the center of it all. He loved this time of year- the energy, family time, the traditions. He was the pancake-maker, the get-out-in-the-snow-with-the-kids guy, the steady presence moving through the house as the day unfolded. There was comfort in the routine of knowing exactly how the day would go, especially since I’m a creature of habit. Dementia doesn’t erase those memories. But it does create space between then and now. And that space can ache.

Grief during the holidays can show up in unexpected ways. It can arrive while pulling decorations out of storage, wrapping gifts or hearing a familiar song. It can catch you off guard in the middle of a room full of people, or in the quiet moment when everyone else has gone to bed.

I find myself, harmlessly, cursing Bruce’s name while wrestling with the holiday lights or taking on tasks that used to be his. Not because I’m mad at him, never that, but because I miss the way he once led the holiday charge. Yes, he taught me well, but I’m still allowed to feel annoyed that this is one more reminder of how things have changed.

If you’re feeling that mix of grief (and yes, annoyance), you’re not doing the holidays wrong. You’re responding honestly to a very real loss. You can miss what was and still show up for what is.

Letting Go of “How It’s Supposed to Be”

One of the hardest parts of the holidays as a caregiver is the pressure, both external and internal, to make everything feel “normal.”

We’re surrounded by images of what the holidays are supposed to look like–perfectly decorated homes, lighthearted gatherings, smiling faces captured in matching pajamas. Even when we know these images are curated, they can still create a sense of failure and extra loss when our reality doesn’t match. When dementia is part of your family, “normal” becomes a moving target.

For a long time, I wanted to the holidays to remain exactly as they were, as if this might protect us from what was happening. But I’m learning that flexibility isn’t giving up. It’s adapting. It’s choosing compassion and reality over perfection. It’s understanding that meaning doesn’t live in the size of the gathering or the polish of the day. It lives in presence.

Making Room for New Memories

There’s a quite fear many caregivers carry; If I make new memories, I’m letting go of the old ones. But making new memories doesn’t erase what came before. It doesn’t diminish the love or the history you share. It simply acknowledges that life is unfolding differently now.

There’s a misconception that if the holidays aren’t what they once were, they must be hollow. But meaning doesn’t require everything to stay the same. It requires connection. This holiday season, our family will still unwrap gifts and sit together at breakfast. But instead of Bruce making our favorite pancakes, I will. And no, I can’t share the secret family recipe. 😉  We’ll put on a holiday movie. There will be laughter and cuddles. And there will almost certainly be tears because we can grieve and make room for joy. The joy doesn’t cancel out the sadness. The sadness doesn’t cancel out the joy. They coexist.

A Few Gentle Reminders for the Season

As you move through the holidays, I hope you’ll carry these truths with you:

• You’re not failing if things look different. You’re adapting.
• You don’t owe anyone an explanation for how you choose to celebrate or not celebrate.
• It’s okay to simplify. Less can be more.
• Grief is not a sign of ingratitude. It’s a sign of love.
• Joy doesn’t have to be loud to be real.

Holding Both / And

In my book, The Unexpected Journey, Dr. Pauline Boss talks about both/and thinking. So you can grieve what the holidays used to be and make room for new traditions. That’s how I push through. I hold the ache of what dementia has taken from us while we trim the tree and the gratitude that we’re still together celebrating. I hold the memories of Bruce as the man who once carried this season for our family, and I hold the reality of who he is now, with the same love. I hold tears and laughter in the same breath, often in the very same moment.

There’s no denying that the holidays are different now. But different doesn’t mean empty. It doesn’t mean broken. It doesn’t mean devoid of meaning. There is still connection. There is still love. There is still joy to be had. And if this season feels heavy for you, please know that you’re not alone. You’re not doing it wrong. And there is no single “right” way to move through this time of year when dementia is part of your life. There is only your way. And that is enough.