A New Year Doesn’t Ask Us to Forget

The turning of the year can feel unsettling when grief is still present. The world counts down, celebrates, and speaks in hopeful language—new beginnings, fresh starts, clean slates. But grief does not follow calendars. It does not reset at midnight. And it does not disappear simply because a new year arrives.

A Rainbow Between Seasons

Nature understands this in ways we often forget.

Autumn still clings to the land in this moment. Trees glow with color, not because they are thriving in fullness, but because they are in the process of letting go. Leaves fall not as a sign of failure, but as part of a sacred transition. Nothing in nature rushes its grief. Nothing is ashamed of change.

Grief, too, is a form of love continuing.

As the sky darkens, clouds gather—heavy, unpredictable, lingering. And yet, a rainbow appears. Not after the storm has fully passed, but while it is still present. This is important. Healing does not wait for everything to feel resolved. Hope does not require the absence of pain. Sometimes it simply arrives alongside it, quietly, without announcement.

The new year does not ask us to forget who we have lost. It does not demand strength, productivity, or positivity. It asks only that we keep going—breathing, remembering, honoring, surviving. Carrying grief forward does not mean we are stuck. It means we are human.

There may be days ahead when the weight feels heavier than expected. Days when celebrations feel hollow, when memories surface uninvited, when the future feels uncertain. And there may also be moments—brief and unexpected—of peace, warmth, or even gratitude. Both can exist together. Neither cancels the other out.

Nature teaches us that life is not made of clean lines. It is made of overlap: endings and beginnings sharing the same space. Shadows and light layered across the same sky. Loss and love standing side by side.

This year does not need to be “better” than the last. It only needs to be honest. If all you can do is move gently, that is enough. If all you can do is stay present, that is brave. And if hope feels distant, trust that it may still find you—softly, quietly, like a rainbow rising through clouds you are still learning to carry.

You are not behind. You are not broken. You are simply walking through a season that deserves patience, compassion, and time. — Shirley Enebrad, Aloha