It’s our third Christmas without Steve. Some people might think I have this figured out by now.

I know that some people do because someone recently directed a person who’d lost someone this past year to me for guidance.

I know they tried to mean it as a compliment, and genuinely wanted to help a friend in need, but I hate being put in this situation.

Inevitably, these conversations start badly. Every person I’ve met who wants to talk about this has the single, same hope: that it will get better, the hope that they will wake up and this nightmare will be behind them.

It is awful to be asked to crush that hope. All I can tell them is that it hasn’t happened in three years.

One of the other worst parts of this is that when the holidays are here, a lot of people think about those of us who have lost people. Unfortunately, we’ve lost those people 365 days a year and it’s awful every day. We don’t have the luxury of just checking in because it’s the holidays.

We know the holidays are coming and prepare ourselves in whatever way we’ve found to make things work.

For me, the holidays mean thickening my shell and bracing for the onslaught. I know I’m going to get hammered with season’s greetings of all sorts, from twinkle lights to favorite carols. I know I’m supposed to put on a good face, and I give it a halfhearted attempt.

I really do want to remember the good times that we had at Christmas. Steve loved Christmas. There are some that thing the best way to honor and remember him would be to continue doing those big, beautiful Christmas things.

If that is how you can best remember your loved one, and you can manage that, then by all means, that is what you should do.

However, if you can’t even stand to look at a twinkle light, or the scent of evergreen makes you want to vomit, well, then you should absolutely stay in bed with the covers over your head and just get through it.

And, if you’re a person who is in a griever’s orbit, let them. Just let them. Let them be over the top with everything, including emotion, or let them not feel a thing. Don’t try to force them to act in a way you think they should be acting.

There is another part to grief, especially when you’ve lost someone you didn’t expect to lose, or when you lost them in a sudden, tragic moment where a goodbye wasn’t possible. I noticed these differences when I lost my father and when I lost Steve.

Even though we lost my father relatively unexpectedly, my father had long made peace with the fact that he had heart disease and knew it would eventually claim him.

He’d had a previous heart attack, and over the years following that, he would casually mention that “he’d had a good run.” We didn’t think much of it at the time, but after he passed, knowing that he’d been satisfied with his life made it easier to accept his loss and carry on the way he wanted.

I did not appreciate what a gift this was until Steve was gone, and I knew that his “run” was nowhere near done yet, and that he would have been extremely angry that it was cut short.

Obviously, not everyone is at a place in their lives where they can say those things or mean them. But, over this holiday season, as you gather with your loved ones, take a moment and reflect on what you have accomplished, and where you are in your life.

It won’t hurt to let those around you know how much you love them, how proud you are of them, and how much they’ve enriched your life.

If you are content in your life, let the people around you know that.

It doesn’t have to be morbid, or sad. In fact, many times when my dad was ruminating on his “good run,” he trotted out some ridiculous story or adventure he’d had, and it turned into a fond recollection of memories.

My father was also a staunch believer in not crying for someone when they’re gone, but rather living every day with them while they’re here, and then remembering those days when they’re no longer with us.

Sadly, I’ve let him down on that front, as I’ve shed many tears for him, and for others, but that doesn’t change the fact that I knew he wanted us to carry on living when he was gone.

Steve and I never really had the conversation about what the other one should do if the unthinkable happened.

Sure, we talked about things like what kind of service we wanted or what we wanted done with our remains, the tangible, practical things that had to be dealt with, but also things that seemed so far in the future that they would work themselves out when needed. We didn’t talk about how to go on living without each other.

We all think we would want what is best for the other person. We would want them to find happiness and keep living the life that we didn’t get to live. But, practically, that is not so easy.

I often ask myself what Steve would be doing if I were the one who was gone, and I honestly can’t see him “being happy” either. I believe, like me, just making sure the kids are OK would have taken every last ounce of his energy. Like me, he’d have struggled being “the other half.” I do wish that we had talked about it more.

Maybe the holidays aren’t the right time to have these conversations, but giving the other people in your life permission to live without you, and permission to say goodbye to you are two enormous gifts you can give them at any time.

They’re gifts that will continue giving long after you’ve left this earth and will do more good than you can ever imagine.

Liz Pinkey’s column appears on Saturdays in the Times News.