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The last memory I have of the holidays with my father was at my house with my husband and daughter. I was swollen and 7 months pregnant with my son. I waddled to the door to greet my dad, my belly bulging in front of me, when he came over for Christmas brunch.

He was thoughtful as usual and brought me brightly colored sunflowers with gerbera daisies from the local grocery store. For almost 30 minutes, he pruned them by hand, one by one, with a large pair of scissors at my sink. I offered to help, but he wouldn't allow it. He gave a quick elbow into the air and brushed me off, making it known I was still his little girl, even at age 39.

I think of the many years we spent watching classic movies like Christmas Vacation and A Christmas Story while eating vanilla ice cream from the local shop and sitting quietly in each other's company. I would occasionally look over at him and smile, reminding him that I was there. The holidays were more whole with him by my side, and now an empty feeling is left in its place.

The first Christmas after he died, I was setting up decorations and next to the piles of lights when I found my dad's pale blue and white stocking in the storage bin. At the top of it, in white embroidery was his nickname, "Paw Paw." I felt a wave of grief come over me and I started to cry. It made me miss our conversations.

That's one of the things about mourning a loss that no one tells you, special days like Christmas, Hanukkah, and birthdays don't get any easier. If anything, it feels harder each year. While I'm grateful to be able to spend quality time with my husband and two kids, the holidays still feel incomplete without him.

It's been almost five years since my father passed away and I've learned a few ways to cope this time of year.

Over the holidays, I buy myself a fresh bouquet of sunflowers each year. I do this not only to remind me of his thoughtfulness, but also because it's cathartic. It's comforting to know his flowers are still on the table and it helps me to feel his presence on these special days. It brings a little joy to incorporate traditions this way.

I make time to meditate, spend time in nature and disconnect from the world when things feel chaotic, especially this time of year. This helps me to allow some quiet time to process my grief. I have also found that doing nurturing things like reading, journaling and drawing helped me to feel more calm and clear my head. Setting aside a few moments to do this can give your mind the break it needs from the constant emotional weight of loss.

I've found spending quality time with my family has made me feel more calm. We share stories about my dad. I talk about our visits to museums, his collections of thousands of books and his favorite holiday meal of HoneyBaked ham and apple pie. It's as though we are all together again. It can offer more support, when you need it most.

During this time of year, I try not to overcommit to plans. I've noticed I'm more sensitive, as a result of my grief. I found that staying close to home helped me to keep plans simple. Instead of trying to do it all, I set boundaries on what felt reasonable and tried not to book my schedule up with events. If you are not up for being social, do what works best for you and your family.

I've kept decorations and meals more simple the last few years to help ease stress on myself in preparation every holiday. I also try to delegate responsibility to others for things like cooking and wrapping. I also try not to blame myself if I am not getting it all done. It can help to manage expectations, to include your own, of what is reasonable.

It has been helpful to connect with other people who have experienced parental loss too. It's comforting to have to support loved ones, but also with people who have experienced the same type of loss. Seeking out online resources like grief-focused virtual private Facebook groups and social media accounts can bring relief from feelings of isolation.

I've also let myself embrace my emotions—the laughter, anger, sadness, and even denial, in the time since his passing. I know there will be good days and more difficult ones. It seems that grief is not a linear process and healing after loss looks different for everyone. No matter what it looks like for you, it's ok.

Lisa McCarty is a writer and a women's health advocate. Her writing has been featured on TODAY, HuffPost, Newsweek, Insider, Wondermind and more. You can follow her on Instagram and Twitter.

All views expressed in this article are the author's own.

Do you have a unique experience or personal story to share? Email the My Turn team at myturn@newsweek.com

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