01:00 AM EST on Sunday, December 5, 2004

BY CAROLYN COLE

I have loved the holidays since I was a child, but the first one after my husband died was brutal.

Mostly I remember going through the motions and feeling very little.

In the life of every family there are good times and bad, but the first holiday without a partner who has shared everything ranks high on the list of bad times. Six years later, another holiday is approaching. I cannot help but think of how much has changed -- and how much has not.

My children would no doubt say that not much has changed in the house in which they grew up. If the measure of change is timber and concrete, they'd be right. By my reckoning, however, a lot has changed. Mostly, I guess, I have changed. Loss has that effect if it strikes closely and deeply. Life is far simpler for me these days, maybe because I have come to appreciate small everyday moments, and to make time for what matters. I understand now how fragile and fleeting life is, and I am grateful for each day and whatever joy it holds.

How did I get from point A to point B? There is no magic formula and no how-to manual for mastering loss and grief, nor is there a timetable -- as a wise therapist once gently advised me. But there are life lessons to be learned. Maybe sharing some of mine will help someone else.

FIRST, IT'S OK TO RUN AWAY when you need to. Not long after my husband died, I closed up my house, boarded my cat, loaded my golden retriever and myself onto a plane, and headed to Colorado for a month with my children. I flew out again for Christmas that year. The distance provided a much-needed respite from painful surroundings, and facilitated a new perspective on loss as seen through the eyes of my family.

Neither trip eliminated my emotional turmoil, and I surely don't advocate a major life change during such a vulnerable period. There's nothing wrong, however, with allowing oneself a change of scene, a bit of diversion and the opportunity to regroup.

Ignoring the pain is pointless. Denial simply doesn't work, short-term or long. Loss has to be truly experienced if we are to get past it. The holidays were very sad for me that first year. Memories were everywhere, sometimes overwhelmingly so. It helped to share that with those who also loved and missed my husband. In the process, without even realizing it, I began the healing task of establishing different holiday traditions and creating new memories.

Instincts are true and should be trusted. I sensed quickly where and with whom I was comfortable after my husband's death. Looking back, I realize that meant being with people who permitted me to express my feelings and thoughts honestly, and accepted both as valid.

It meant saying no to social opportunities that were not right for me -- and yes to new possibilities that felt easy and positive. I declined holiday invitations tactfully, I hope -- when I knew I couldn't manage a party face. I welcomed my son's suggestion that we take in an afternoon movie at a Denver mall on Christmas Day, something we had never done before. (Though I can't tell you a single thing about the film my family and I saw that day, I remember vividly how good it felt to do something different with those I loved.)

AND FINALLY, IT HELPS TO focus on what you still have rather than what you've lost.

A very big piece of what got me through that holiday six years ago -- and enriches my life today -- is the good fortune to have shared life for 25 years with an extraordinary man. I also know how blessed I am to have wonderful children, supportive family and friends, to enjoy good health and to possess a hopelessly optimistic nature. I will always miss my husband, and especially during the holidays. Loving and being loved carry a price tag, and I gladly pay that cost.

I'm not sure what the approaching holiday season holds. The little cat I boarded when I headed west six years ago is no longer with me, and my beloved golden is now not young enough or well enough to travel.

Wherever and however the holidays unfold, however, I look forward to all of it. Memories that once held only anguish now fill me with the warmth and comfort of life well lived. I've learned that loss is part of loving fully, and that adventure and change are good for the heart and soul. In short, I understand finally that life is a gift, one that must be lived and savored each day.

Somewhere, my husband is surely smiling.

Carolyn Cole lives in Cranston. Send your point of view to LIFEstyles, 75 Fountain St., Providence, RI 02902. We pay $50 for each essay published. Essays without a self-addressed stamped envelope will not be returned.