As Christmas draws near and we enter this season of light, I find myself thinking about a recent conversation with a woman whose husband died just weeks ago. Amid so many sudden changes, her nights have become especially difficult. Sleep is elusive, replaced by anxious thoughts of words left unsaid, problems unresolved, and moments she longs to revisit but cannot. The quiet darkness holds the weight of her grief, leaving her exhausted in ways that reach far beyond physical fatigue.

Today we mark the solstice, a sacred turning point when the balance of light and darkness pauses and then gently shifts. At the Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year, darkness reaches its fullness, and from that stillness, light begins to return. Honored across cultures, this moment invites rest, reflection, and hope. It reminds us that even in the deepest night, new beginnings are quietly forming and that light is never lost, only waiting. As we honor the solstice and the promise of returning light, our thoughts are with all who dread the long, dark hours of grief. May this season gently remind them that light returns slowly, and that even in our deepest darkness, hope can still find its way to us.

What The Light Knows

The light does not rush.
It has learned patience from winter,
from the long practice of waiting.

It enters the room quietly—
a candle’s breath,
a window left glowing,
the soft insistence of dawn
arriving a minute earlier than yesterday.

This is how care works too.
Not with announcement,
but with faithfulness.
A hand where it is needed.
A task well done.
A promise kept even when no one is watching.

The solstice knows this truth:
That the night grows no darker
before it begins to loosen its grip.

Nothing dramatic marks the change.
Still, the earth remembers.
The light remembers.

 And so do we
even if we cannot yet feel it.

There are people tending the glow.
keeping things ready,
keeping doors open,
keeping steadiness alive
through the longest nights.

They work quietly,
not because the work is small,
but because it is sacred.

Light does not argue with darkness.
It simply stays.
It shows up again tomorrow,
and the next day,
until staying becomes enough.

Tonight,
light a candle if you wish.
Or simply notice the way
the world has not given up on you.

Grief is often quiet and private. Those who are struggling may not always show it. A neighbor, coworker, or friend may be carrying a recent loss or an old loss that feels especially painful during this time of year. A simple acknowledgment, a gentle check-in, or patience with one another can be powerful expressions of love and support. Often the greatest gift we can offer is presence. To those who are supporting someone who is grieving: your compassion matters more than perfect words.

At Miles Funeral Home our thoughts remain with the families we have had the privilege to serve. We hold your stories, your loved ones’ names, and the trust you placed in us with deep respect. Our work brings us face to face with loss, but it also reveals something enduring: love continues, even when presence changes.

To all who move through this season with a mix of emotions, we offer this reminder from the heart of funeral service: grief is not a sign of weakness; it is a reflection of love. May peace find you in the ways you need it most. May moments of gentleness meet you where you are. And may we all move through these days with a little more tenderness for ourselves and for one another.

The Miles Funeral Home Family

December 21, 2025