This post is written from a child's perspective when a parent is absent during the holiday.

In all things I have shown you that by working hard in this way we must help the weak and remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he himself said, ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive. Acts 20:35

The Silent Holiday: A Child’s Perspective on the Absence of a Parent in Prison

The holidays are often painted in a warm glow of joy, family reunions, and laughter echoing through homes. For many children, this time of year is filled with anticipation, the scent of baking cookies, and the chaotic thrill of gift-wrapping. But for some children, the holiday season brings a different kind of reality—one marked by the quiet weight of absence.

I remember the first winter after my dad was sent to prison. The air was crisp, with snowflakes gently blanketing the ground like a soft, white hug, yet inside our home, the chill was palpable. We had decorated the tree, just like we did every year, but the twinkling lights couldn’t illuminate the void that loomed in the corner of the room—the chair where my dad used to sit with us, laughing and telling stories.

As we huddled together, my mom’s smile felt forced. She tried to make things festive, whipping up our favorite holiday meals and wrapping gifts in cheerful paper, but her eyes told a different story. They were clouds, heavy with worry and sadness. I watched her as she hid her tears whenever she thought I wasn’t looking, and I felt a knot in my stomach that grew tighter as the days passed.

On Christmas morning, I awoke with a blend of excitement and dread. Presents lay beneath the tree, but the biggest gift I wanted—my dad—was absent. I would catch myself staring at my phone, hoping for a call that never came; the silence only served to amplify the longing in my heart. I found my thoughts drifting often to him, wondering if he was thinking of us or if the walls of his cell had swallowed his memories whole.

During those days, I often found solace in the little things. A neighbor dropped off cookies, and with each bite, I felt the warmth of their kindness wrap around me. My mom and I carved out moments of laughter, reminiscing about our favorite holiday experiences—how we once dressed the dog in a Santa hat or how Dad would insist on finding the biggest tree, only to curse softly when it wouldn’t fit in our living room.

Compassion was a thread that wove through our days—an understanding that while the world outside was filled with cheer, we were battling our own unique challenges. Other kids were busy showing off their new toys at school, while I kept my focus on the simple acts of kindness that broke through the fog of sadness. My friends didn’t quite understand why I often wore a somber face, but one day a classmate, sensing my heaviness, simply approached me and asked, “Are you okay?” That small act of concern felt like a lighthouse in a storm; someone saw me, and in that moment, I was not alone.

Through it all, I discovered the importance of hope. I began to write letters to my dad, sharing stories of our days—the funny things that happened at school, the mishaps in the kitchen, and all the little memories we were making despite his absence. I didn’t know if he received those letters, but sending them brought me peace, a reminder that our bond was not broken, just stretched.

As the year crept into spring, and the holidays turned into distant memories, I learned that while the absence of a parent is a heavy burden, it could also teach resilience. I realized that family isn’t solely measured by physical presence; it's about the love that persists regardless of circumstance. I learned to acknowledge my feelings of grief, but also to celebrate the love that enveloped me—love from my mom, my friends, and even the kindness of neighbors.

Holidays may always carry the reminder of my dad’s empty chair, but they also highlight the strength I've found within myself and my family. There’s still warmth in our home, and though it’s been hard, the lessons of compassion, hope, and connection remain our guiding lights.

As we move forward, my wish is that for every child experiencing the pain of separation during the holidays, they find their own glimmers of hope, just like I did. The journey is long, but with each step, we build a bridge back to love. --- In the moments when you feel the weight of absence, remember: even the darkest nights will eventually yield to dawn. Hold on to the love that surrounds you, and may your heart always find its way home.