The Empty Spot Under the Tree—
Navigating Pet Loss When the World Says "Celebrate"
Let’s just put it out there: The holidays are loud.
They are bright, they are sparkly, and they demand a level of "merry" that feels virtually impossible when your heart has been shattered. If you are reading this, chances are you’re staring at a stocking that won’t be filled this year, or walking past a favorite spot on the rug that is heartbreakingly empty.
I know that silence. I know it intimately.
Two years ago, in the grey chill of November, I lost my soul-dog, Ikaroa. She was a Cane Corso—a giant, majestic, slobbery force of nature who took up half the bed and all of my heart. Losing her right before the holiday season felt like a cruel joke. The world was hanging tinsel and blasting Mariah Carey, and I was barely remembering to breathe.
It felt like I was in the front row of a funeral where no one else was present. Everything happened so quickly that I couldn't properly say goodbye. I didn't even know the emergency vet or the crematory that took her. Only one of my best friends reached out with a memorial gift, while everyone else remained silent.
Whether you lost your baby yesterday, last month, or five years ago, the holidays have a way of tearing the scab right off the wound. And I’m here to tell you something that maybe you haven’t heard enough: You are allowed to be sad.
In fact, you are allowed to be devastatingly, messily sad, right in the middle of the "most wonderful time of the year."
Love is Love (And Grief is Grief)
We need to talk about the people who say, "It was just a dog/cat/pet."
If anyone says that to you this season? You have my full, millennial permission to uninvite them from your mental space. Do not let anyone—anyone—gatekeep your grief. Do not let them minimize the magnitude of your loss.
The grief is deep because the love was deep. It’s that simple. Love is love. It doesn’t matter if the soul you loved walked on two legs or four. It doesn't matter if they spoke English or communicated via tail wags and purrs. When you love a creature that fiercely, their absence leaves a crater.
If you are hurting, it’s because you loved hard. And that is something to be honored, not hidden.
The "Holiday Trigger" is Real
Even if your pet didn’t pass during the holidays, this time of year is a nostalgia trap. We measure our lives in eras defined by who walked beside us. We remember the Christmas where they knocked over the tree, or the Hanukkah where they stole a latke off the counter.
The holidays are about family. And for us? They were family.
So when the sensory overload of the season hits—the smells of turkey, the sound of wrapping paper—it triggers the muscle memory of them not being there to beg for a scrap or tear up a box. It highlights the void.
How to Survive (and Maybe Even Honor Them)
I love loudly. I feel things big. When I lost Ikaroa, I tried to force myself to go to the parties and put on the sparkly dress. It was a disaster.
Here is what I’ve learned about navigating the holidays with a broken heart:
Feel the Feelings: If you need to cry into your eggnog, do it. If you need to stay in pajamas and look at photos of them on your phone for three hours, do it. Trying to suppress the grief only makes it explode later. Let the waves hit you. You will float back up.
Set Hard Boundaries: You do not have to explain your mental health to anyone. If you aren't up for the big family gathering because everyone will ask, "Where's the dog?", it is okay to stay home. Protect your peace.
Create a New Tradition: This helped me the most. I couldn't ignore that Ikaroa was gone, so I included him. Light a candle for them. Buy a special ornament with their name. Make a donation to a shelter in their honor instead of buying gifts for people who don't need anything.
Talk to Them: I still talk to Ikaroa. I tell her about the business named after her. I tell her I miss her heavy head on my lap. It helps.
You Are Not Alone
To the person dreading the next few weeks: I see you.
I know the specific pain of waking up on a holiday morning and realizing they aren't there to greet you. It hurts. But please, be gentle with yourself. Treat yourself with the same compassion you gave your pet.
Your grief is a testament to a beautiful bond. Carry it with you, even through the holidays. It’s the price of a great love, and I promise you—they were worth it.
Sending you so much love and strength this season.
