By Emma Granquist Houghton
The holidays are supposed to be a time of joy, warmth, and celebration, but for anyone grieving, they can open up an ache that feels impossible to name. There’s no shortage of advice out there about how to “manage” grief this time of year – and I can relate. Before coming to the Death with Dignity movement, my instinct was almost always to fix or problem-solve.
But losing loved ones has taught me something different: grief isn’t something you manage, and it certainly isn’t something you fix.
Recently, I watched a video from Something Beautiful for This World, a collaborative series by three independent filmmakers—Reflections of Life, Campfire Stories, and Happen Films. In it, Antoinette from South Africa reflects on the death of her dear friend and mentor, Elder Oom Johannes. She shares one of the most profound teachings he offered her: that the only thing you can truly do in grief is surrender. As she moved through her own loss, she repeated to herself, “I surrender myself to this process.”
That line has been echoing in me ever since, and has me thinking about how to surrender during the holidays.
When Surrender Is an Act of Self-Compassion
What does it really mean to surrender to grief, especially during a time when society expects us to be joyful, social, and “okay”? Antoinette does not ask us to give up when we surrender, but to give in to what your heart is already carrying. During a season filled with traditions, gatherings, and pressure to feel festive, surrender can be an act of self-compassion, a practice of being gentle with ourselves as we navigate the deep challenges of life and loss.
To surrender to grief is to let yourself feel what you feel without apology. It’s choosing presence over performance. It’s allowing the sadness, the numbness, the longing, and not treating any of it as something to fix or hide so you don’t “ruin the holidays.” In many ways, this mirrors the approach we take at Death with Dignity in supporting people at the end of life: there is no one-size-fits-all solution. Whether someone is exploring medical aid in dying or other end-of-life choices, the focus is on meeting them with patience, presence, and compassion, rather than trying to “fix” their experience.
Can Grief at the End-of-Life be Fixed?
We often treat grief like a problem to solve. If we cry enough, talk enough, stay busy enough, maybe we’ll eventually “feel better.” But there is nothing fixable about death. And trying to fix the unfixable becomes another way of abandoning ourselves.
Recognizing that the loss of someone we love can change us in ways we can’t control. And meeting those changes with softness rather than resistance. In that sense, surrender becomes a form of care, a way to practice self-compassion. It creates the space needed for transformation: the quiet unfolding into someone new, someone truer.
One of the most grounding lessons from the film was unexpectedly simple: feed the dog, feed the chickens, they need you. During the holidays, when grief can feel particularly heavy, these small, steady rituals matter even more. When everything inside feels shattered, caring for animals or plants anchors us in reality. Their needs, fresh water, food, sunlight, pull us gently back into our bodies. They remind us that even when grief empties us out, we can still show up for something small. And often, those small things are what keep us moving through the hardest days of the season.
Doing Less By Witnessing More
Antoinette said the people who supported her most were the ones who simply sat with her. Shared a cup of tea. Didn’t try to fix anything or offer perfect words. They were just there, bearing witness to her pain. And truly, nobody can make grief better, but they can make sure we don’t sit in it alone. This is the essence of compassion: being present, offering space, and honoring the process without judgment.
And maybe the most powerful lesson: when you make space for pain, you make space for love. Pain is not infinite. It feels endless, like it has no beginning or end, but it changes. It shifts. It lets light in again, slowly, quietly, on its own time.
If you are grieving this holiday season, I invite you to move when you can. Rest when it’s needed. Tend to something small. Sit with someone who loves you. Let yourself surrender to what is. Grief is a form of love, reshaping itself—and honoring it with compassion allows space for transformation, just as honoring end-of-life choices and medical aid in dying allows dignity and care for those at the end of life.