I've never been good with change.
Christmas, for me, always stirs up so many memories of my childhood. Every year, for so many years, Christmas Eve was spent with my dad's side of the family at my grandparent's house. We'd have a big party with second and third generation cousins, aunts, and uncles during the day, and once they left, the immediate family would sit down to a wonderful dinner (honey-baked ham and rolls and my aunt's amazing hash brown casserole) before opening piles and piles and piles of presents. My grandpa would always dictate who went first, and every year, the present-opening order was youngest to oldest, which meant that I was first until I turned 3. Then Amber took over the coveted spot, pushing me into second place, where I remained until the year my grandpa died. When I close my eyes, I can still picture and feel moments of those Christmases. My mom would always dress my sister and me in those adorable yet uncomfortable as hell frilly Christmas dresses and tights that I couldn't wait to take off. Once the last member of the extended family left, I would usually make a beeline for the Christmas pajamas that my mom had inevitably packed, only to have to change again later so we could take a family picture in front of the tree. I remember the excitement and anticipation growing as the day wore on after sneaking peeks at the piles of presents just begging to be unwrapped. I remember down to every last detail how my grandparents decorated their living room each year; the manger scene next to the dining room table, which was filled to bursting with food, the Christmas tree in the corner, and the animatronic Santa and Mrs. Claus on the half-ledge by the front door. They would program their doorbell to play 'We Wish You A Merry Christmas', the fridge in the garage would be filled with soda and beer, and the kids would all congregate in the basement to challenge each other to games of ping-pong and pool while the women chatted in the living room and the men yelled at the football games on the big-screen TV in the family room. When I got tired, I would crawl under the coats on my grandparent's bed and doze off to the comforting sounds of laughter and happiness and family and love. To this day, those were some of the best naps I ever took.
After my grandpa passed away, everything began to change. I don't remember how many more Christmases we had at their house after that, but it wasn't many. Eventually, we moved my grandma and my aunt into assisted living, and though we continue many of the traditions to this day, and we still enjoy our time together, it's just never been quite the same. Every year, there are small changes to our celebration that, though minuscule in the grand scheme of things, always feel gargantuan to me. It's not always even a guarantee that we will have our celebration on Christmas Eve anymore, which leaves me looking for new traditions to fill that time.
When I think back to all those wonderful Christmas Eves at my grandparent's house as a child, they take on a sort of hazy, glowing quality; I can see it so clearly in my head, but when I try to feel it again, it's like trying to grasp onto air. My aunt works so hard to make everything wonderful, and she always succeeds. We always have fun together, and eat delicious food, and we are all so spoiled by the generosity of one another when it comes to gift-giving. But still, it will never be as it was, and I carry that tiny twinge of longing for Christmases past with me in my heart each and every year.
I've spent a lot of time reflecting on all of this today... not just Christmas Eves, but Christmas Days spent with my mom's side of the family - thirteen grandkids swinging from the rafters, six kids trying to calm them down, two grandparents doling out presents, and a partridge in a pear tree - and all the things that my mom, dad, sister and I used to do together leading up to all of those wonderful celebrations. Baking cookies with my mom, especially her secret sugar cookie recipe, which Amber and I still make every year. Making elaborate gingerbread houses to be demolished and devoured on New Years Eve. Spending the day putting up lights outside our house on Shagbark Court with my dad. Building snow forts in the front yard after the plows would come through, leaving mountains of snow for us to dig through, and warming up with hot chocolate afterwards. Visiting Santa at Mayfair Mall. My mom refusing to let us open any presents on Christmas morning until she had the video camera up and running. Unfortunately, a lot of these memories were overshadowed by the challenges we faced as a family in the later years, but I still have snippets of memories here and there, as clear as day; in particular, one involving my parent's old blue Dodge van, picking out a Christmas tree, and listening to Alvin and the Chipmunks Christmas cassette tape. And after reflecting, I've come to one very important conclusion:
I believe that the magic of Christmas is found in our childhood, and unless we are very, very careful, we lose it when we grow up... and the only way to find it again is to have children of your own, and share their magic with them.
I love Christmas... I love everything about it... but as each year passes, and so much changes, further distancing the Christmases of today from the Christmases of my childhood, and I'm challenged with finding the time to enjoy the season while also being a responsible adult, it gets more and more difficult to feel that magic. I've been lucky enough to still feel it at some point each year, but it always came in stops and starts, stuttering and then bursting open before disappearing as quickly as it came. This year was even more challenging than most, because the void left by my mom overshadowed every single potentially joyful moment I encountered. I tried; I tried so incredibly hard to enjoy every single aspect of the holiday season. I watched Christmas movies, and decorated my house; I baked cookies, I donated to charities, I shopped for Christmas presents; I walked Candy Cane Lane and went to Christmas parties and wore ridiculous things like reindeer antlers and a blinking Christmas light necklace; I spent time with friends and family, and I sang at not one, not two, but three Christmas masses, which I usually leave feeling rejuvenated and inspired; but and not once, not once, did I feel that spark.
I've never been good with change, and I'm dealing with one of the biggest changes that any human being will ever have to face; the death of someone they love, and the trial and error period that occurs after, when you're trying to figure out how to put the pieces of your life back together without them. I picked up my phone today to text my mom 'Merry Christmas', and when I realized what I was doing, it brought me to tears. My grandma wore my mom's perfume to church, and when I hugged her and smelled it, it felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. I watched today as each family took pictures in front of my aunt's Christmas tree, and wished more than anything I could take back all those Christmases when I'd been so irritated with my mom for wanting to take a million pictures of us together. I thought about how hard my mom always worked to make things nice for my sister and I... how she always wanted us to have the best of everything... and I thought about how I would trade every single gift I got this year for one last hug from her. And it brought me here, to this, and to you.
I am caught somewhere between the past and the future - still looking back, and still looking forward, but not quite ready to face today - and Christmas Day was no exception. The fact that I will never spend another Christmas with my mom is still something I am having trouble wrapping my head around, but there is certainly still joy to be found in the time spent with my family and friends. And I don't think I've lost the magic of Christmas; it may have gotten lost in the grieving process this year, but that doesn't mean it's going to stay away forever.
I've never been good with change, but change is a part of life. It's just a matter of reconciling who you were with who you are, and who you are with who you want to be. Christmas may never be as it was, but it is still full of magic, and I can't wait to have children and a family of my own to share the magic and build new traditions with, the way my mom did, and the way my dad and Nancy continue to do with my sister and me to this day. In the meantime, I'm determined to try again next year to find that spark on my own.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
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