Thanksgiving mornings with my mom were the beginning of our holiday season. Before sunrise, the kitchen came alive. It was filled with flour everywhere, pots simmering, and lots of love moving through the house. We cooked all night, laughing, tasting and somehow making enough food to feed a small nation.

And then there was the lemon glaze.

Her famous pound cake icing lived on top of the refrigerator like it was in hiding, as if that would stop us from sneaking a taste. Every year we climbed and stretched just far enough to dip a our fingers into the rim of that cake dish with the lemon glaze.

As I got older, life carried me to Bermuda. Marriage, adulthood, responsibilities and everything shifted, except the bond between my mom and me. Every Thanksgiving and Christmas, she wanted pictures of whatever I was baking. “Let me see what you made this year,” she’d say, sounding just as excited as she did when I was little. And she always reminded me, “I’ve had my prayer and Bible study, now I’m heading out for my walk so I can enjoy this guilt-free later.”

She became vegan over time, but her joy for the holidays and her commitment to healthy living never changed.

Saturday makes a year since she passed away. I have written about losing her, and this year, closing out 2025, I feel that ache all over again, but in new ways.

This has been a difficult year for so many people around me. Several of my friends have lost their parents, some unexpectedly, but all painfully. And grief during this season feels different. The holidays draw us back to family, to the ones who built our traditions and filled our lives with the memories we treasure most. When they’re no longer here, the holidays can feel heavier, quieter, and more complicated. And I’ll be honest, sometimes it’s hard seeing others surrounded by their families. Not because you aren’t happy for them — you truly are — but the reminder of what’s missing can land a little heavier this time of year.

But here’s what I’ve learnt:

Grief doesn’t care about holidays. It doesn’t disappear because the season demands joy. And, yes, in my line of work, people see me smiling. But that doesn’t mean I’m not carrying my own hurt. Still, connecting with my friends and clients helps me through it, one breath at a time.

If you’re grieving, please don’t shut yourself away. Step outside when you can. Move your body, even if it’s just a short walk because it can gently bring your mind back into the present. Try to say yes to being around others, even briefly. You may shed a tear during the festivities or seeing other people’s parents. You may step outside when a memory hits a little too hard. You may feel the sting of absence even in a room full of laughter. But a few minutes with a friend, soaking in their happiness, can lighten your heart more than you’d expect

Grief around the holidays is layered. It’s painful. It’s unpredictable. But it also reminds us of just how deeply we were loved.

When I think of my mom, I think of those late-night cooking marathons, the prayers, the icing, the holiday photos we shared across the ocean, and her determination to get her run in before indulging. I think of her joy. And even now — especially now — I try to honour her by moving through life with that same warmth.

As we walk through the holidays, if your heart is hurting, please know this:

You’re not alone.

Your sadness is seen.

And even in a year that didn’t start well and hasn’t ended much better, there is still room for small, gentle moments of light.

And for those who still have your parents, hug them tighter.

Take the calls.

Hear the stories.

Because one day you’ll miss all of it. I know I would give anything to answer one more call.

Hold on to love this season, in every form it takes and B-Active For Life!

• Betty Doyling is a certified fitness trainer and figure competitor with more than a decade of experience. Look for BActive For Life Fitness on Facebook