I have always loved the holiday season. My mother went full tilt from Thanksgiving through Christmas, going out of her way to make every moment special and memorable. Since she passed away, I go overboard decorating, crafting, gifting, and cooking — because it makes it feel like she’s still here with me.
I remember my first Christmas without my mom. This happened long before she passed away. I had moved away to finish college in Wyoming. I was working at a radio station, and I had to be on the air Christmas morning.
Christmas Eve was rough. I played the same sappy Glen Campbell Christmas album over and over because it made me cry. I literally wallowed in my own misery that night. I sat up with the only thing in my cupboard — a big bag of marshmallows — and roasted them on a fork with a cigarette lighter. All I could think about was my family back home, gathered around my grandmother’s dining room table, feasting and laughing.
Come to think of it, while there was a lot of laughter around that table, there was also plenty of drama. My grandmother and my mother had the stereotypical negative mother–daughter-in-law relationship, which always made way for passive-aggressive and snarky remarks. My sister and I always fought over gifts. My dad’s family is Italian, so there was a lot of yelling — just for yelling’s sake. My great-aunt inevitably followed people around apologizing for giving them “bad gifts,” even though her gifts were always lovely.
It was never really a Norman Rockwell situation at our family holiday dinners, but since an estimated 70 to 80% of families are dysfunctional, I’m okay with that. I still miss those Christmas Eve get-togethers. I probably would have appreciated them more at the time had I known that one day they wouldn’t happen anymore.
There was one ray of hope that Christmas Eve: I had a box to open in the morning. My mother had sent it up from Louisiana. Printed on the box was one simple instruction — “Do not open until December 25.”
When I opened the box at work that morning, I was overcome with emotion. I was thrilled to discover gifts inside, but even more delighted to see a Christmas stocking.
One of my favorite things about Christmas growing up was unpacking my stocking. Sure, there would be odd things in it — like an apple or a toothbrush — but it was mostly filled with my favorite treats. Between that and the fact that I was required to play Christmas music my entire shift, I cried a lot that day.
There was a big difference between the tears on Christmas Eve and the tears that next morning. The evening’s self-pity was replaced by the presence of my mom’s love. A simple stocking made me feel a little less alone, a little less sad, and a little more grateful for all the years of holiday traditions I had known.
Gratitude — and keeping those traditions alive — has kept the joy in the season. Every little ritual, recipe, and song takes me back, smiling through tears.
