The Weight of the Mistletoe

Most people think mistletoe is just about a kiss… a sweet, fleeting moment tucked under a doorway. But the truth is, mistletoe carries a weight far deeper than tradition. It grows in the coldest months, the darkest days, a stubborn little burst of life clinging to branches when everything else has surrendered to winter. It is the light in the middle of the season we all struggle through, a quiet symbol of hope, of life that refuses to give up, of something still growing even when the world feels barren. And in many ways, that tiny, defiant green sprig mirrors the way grief lives inside us: surviving in the shadows, searching for warmth, holding on when the rest of us feels frozen.

The holidays have a way of magnifying everything we carry, the joy, the longing, and especially the ache. December asks us to be merry, to sparkle, to show up with smiles and warm hearts, even when the inside of our chest feels like winter itself. Grief doesn’t soften just because the calendar says it should. In fact, it often sharpens. Empty chairs feel louder. Traditions feel heavier. And the smallest reminders… a song, a scent, a moment you didn’t brace yourself for, can pull you right back into the cold. But like the mistletoe, something inside us still holds on. Some tiny parts of us keep growing even when the rest of our world feels stripped bare. Maybe that’s the hidden gift of grief: it teaches us how to survive in seasons we never thought we could endure.

Every December, I feel Mya in the quiet moments… the ones no one else notices. The way the cold air bites a little sharper. The way Christmas lights glow a little softer. The way my heart searches for her in places where she used to stand, laugh, or simply exist. Her memory settles over me like the mistletoe itself: unexpected, resilient, alive in the middle of my winter. She is the reminder that love doesn’t disappear just because life has grown dark. She is the stubborn green sprig clinging to my branches, whispering that even in the coldest seasons, something beautiful can still survive. And maybe that’s what gives me the strength to keep going, knowing that her light didn’t leave me; it just changed forms. It lives in the stories I tell, the lives she touches through me, and the hope I fight to keep alive in her honor.

As the holidays unfold, grief shifts in ways I can never quite predict. Some days it feels softer, like a quiet tug reminding me of all the love I was blessed to hold. Other days it hits with the force of a winter storm, sharp and uninvited, knocking the breath out of me when I least expect it. The season has a way of stirring up what we try so hard to steady… the longing, the memories, the moments that should still be happening. But somewhere in the middle of it all, I find myself reaching for meaning, for purpose, for something that keeps my heart from collapsing under the weight. And that is where the mistletoe becomes more than a symbol…it becomes a mirror. A reminder that even in the coldest seasons, I can still lift others up. Through Mya’s Mission, I carry her love forward. I hold onto the hope she left behind, offering warmth to families caught in their own winters. Every Narcan box placed, every child we protect, every conversation sparked; it’s my way of hanging a piece of mistletoe in the darkest corners of this world, whispering that light still exists, even here. Even now.

Helping others will never erase our grief, nothing ever truly does, but it does soften the edges in a way that feels like breathing again. Every time I reach out my hand to someone in need, it reminds me that my heart, even broken, still has work to do. And right now, in a world filled with homelessness, addiction, families barely hanging on, and an economy that feels heavier each day, we need those small sparks of purpose more than ever. We need reminders of the things that still give us light. Christmas isn’t about perfection or presents or pretending everything is okay. It’s about looking inward, finding meaning in the middle of the mess, and recognizing the strength we gain not just from the loved ones we’ve lost, but from the ones who are still here holding on with us. We owe it to them, and to ourselves, to keep living. To keep creating moments worth remembering. To honor the memories that shaped us while being present for the memories still waiting to be made. Because in the end, those moments, past and present, are what carry us through the winter, guiding us toward whatever warmth comes next.