My First Christmas Without Alex

I was up early on Christmas morning—not because of excitement, but because of uncertainty. I didn’t know how the day would go or what emotions might hit. Kat and I had already agreed to play it by ear, knowing neither of us could predict what the day would bring or how well I’d be able to cope.

I sat on the couch while Kat ate breakfast, my mind wandering. Of course, I was thinking about Alex—but also about Kat, about Jason, and about everyone who is still here with me. My eyes kept drifting to Alex’s stocking, hanging there like it always has. That’s when I felt the wave building. I miss him so much. The pain of him not being here is still heavy and sharp. When the wave finally crashed, it took me under, triggering another grief panic attack.

I went upstairs and broke down in the desk chair I had bought Alex last year. Sitting there was overwhelming. Eventually, I made my way back downstairs, took my medication, and slowly came down from the emotional panic. It’s not easy, but it’s something I’ve had to learn how to do—because sometimes it’s the only way forward.

Later, I asked Kat when we were going to leave for her parents’ house. We weren’t even sure we’d be able to go; it all depended on how I was doing. She asked if I was sure, if I felt okay enough to make the trip. In that moment, I knew I needed to get out of the house. Sitting there, surrounded by memories, didn’t feel good for my head or my heart.

Jason was still sleeping and wasn’t planning on getting up until closer to dinnertime, so Kat and I made the 90-minute drive. I’m really glad we did. Getting out of the house, changing the scenery, and being around other people helped more than I expected.

When we got home later that afternoon, I started preparing dinner—Chicken Parm. For Alex. Because when Chicken Parm is on the menu, you get Chicken Parm. Jason eventually came downstairs, and we exchanged gifts. In that moment, I was able to be present—really present—with Kat and Jason. I wasn’t thinking ahead or behind. I was just there, enjoying Christmas with the people I love.

Later that night, after everyone else had gone to bed, I had my time alone with Alex.

I took the card from his stocking, opened it for him, and read it out loud. I talked to him. I told him how special he is, how proud I am of him, how much I love and miss him. I told him how sorry I am that I wasn’t a better dad.

It was a long day. A hard day. A day filled with waves and moments of calm.

I made it through my first Christmas without Alex—not because I was strong, but because I allowed myself to feel everything the day brought. I didn’t avoid the pain, and I didn’t rush past it. I leaned on the people I love, stepped away when I needed to, and showed up when I could.

Grief doesn’t disappear on holidays. It shows up quietly, loudly, and sometimes all at once. But so does love. And this Christmas, love carried me through.

For now, that’s enough.