No, our family just seems to pick that time of year to die.
Decades ago, a maternal uncle who had been disabled during a flight training accident at the start of the US involvement in WWII (a head injury that made him epileptic, followed by “shock treatment” therapy that worsened his condition) had a seizure at home, collapsed and struck his head on a bathroom fixture and died suddenly. (Christmas was also his birthday.)
Since he lived with his mother at the time, and she was the one who found him, the shock and loss to her meant that she became more or less incompetent for independent living, but she so hated life in a nursing home (and Alzheimer’s was a real factor, too, so that she did not even recognize family members who visited her daily), that she died at Christmas the following year.
Twelve years ago my dad died suddenly and unexpectedly from an accident at his home, two days before my own 50th birthday in late October.
Three years ago my last surviving relative from that generation on my father’s side died – not unexpectedly – a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving.
I have generally enjoyed the fall and winter months, but it seems like they don’t like our family any too much.