The Holidays

Let’s talk about the holidays.

As a child, I loved them.

Waking up Christmas morning to my mother singing while making breakfast has to be one of my many favorite memories that I have of her.

The moment Thanksgiving dinner was over, the Christmas decorations would come down from the attic and we would begin the three to four-day process of decorating the whole entire house while singing at the top of our lungs some of our favorite Christmas songs.

My mother loved Christmas. When I say loved, I mean LOVED. This woman would spend a whole day putting garland around every single doorway along with the themed bows she picked for that year. Eventually the garland turned into garland with lights in it because she couldn’t get enough of the magic of Christmas.

Christmas made my mother so happy. Christmas used to make me happy.

Then my sister passed away. That was a low blow for the whole family. That year, my mother still decorated for Christmas. Picked a different themed bow for the garland with lights. Still sang at the top of her lungs her favorite Christmas songs. Still made breakfast Christmas morning. And tried so extremely hard to bring a smile to my face on Christmas Day. Even though I faked the smile because I knew how hard my mother wanted to make that day a celebration, there was something inside of me that felt guilty for laughing, smiling, opening Christmas gifts without my sister, and even celebrating Christmas in general.

The years went on. As my mother always said, “it doesn’t get easier, it gets more accepting.” I started holding onto that statement even when I saw the pain in my mother’s eyes as she recited it to every single person who offered support during the holidays. I started singing Christmas songs with my mother again while we decorated the house and enjoyed every single moment I had with her.

Then she got sick. Every single alarm in my brain was going off. She had to have surgery two days before Christmas and I didn’t understand how this could be happening. I remember seeing her after surgery and not being able to go over to her. I couldn’t get myself together long enough to stand next to my mother. In those moments, all I could think was that I was going to lose her. In those moments, I had flashbacks of my sister in the hospital. Christmas that year was very quiet.

Every Christmas after my mother’s surgery was a gift. Every single November, we would get news that my mother’s cancer spread elsewhere and that she would have to start a new form of chemo. As I watched my mother suffer, I started to really not like the holidays. But even when my mother was suffering, she still sung Christmas songs at the top of her lungs, decorated the whole entire house, cooked, baked, and put up that garland with the lights in it (and don’t forget the themed bows).

That last Christmas I was blessed to have with my mother was difficult. The decorations were minimal, there wasn’t much singing, cooking, baking, and there wasn’t garland with the lights in it with the themed bows hanging around the doorways. It was quiet. It was quiet because we all knew that this would be my mother’s last Christmas. As much as I didn’t want to believe it, my heart knew that I needed to cherish that Christmas with my mother. I did the one thing I knew would make her smile. I sang for her. I sang so that once she left this Earth, she would have my voice with her wherever she went.

The first Christmas without my mother was honestly terrible. I treated it as another day. There weren’t any decorations, singing, cooking, baking, and you guessed it, no garland with the lights in it with the themed bows hanging around the doorway. I spent most of the day alone. I didn’t want to celebrate a holiday without my mother. I drank to numb out how I felt and couldn’t wait for the day to be over. I knew in my heart that my mother was disappointed because that’s not what she wanted. But my heart was shattered into a million pieces and I felt more alone than ever before.

The next two Christmas’ were the same except I decorated the place where I was living and spent it with my boyfriend. My heart was still shattered into a million pieces and there were moments where I felt that no one could possibly understand the pain that I felt.

This year, I have a place of my own with the love of my life. Most of the house is decorated. There has been singing Christmas songs at the top of my lungs, holiday activities have been attended, there will be baking and cooking, and there is garland with lights in it around one of the windows in my house (no themed bows this year—maybe next year).

This will be the fourth Christmas without my mother. I know how thrilled she would be to know that this is the first Christmas in my home and that I have made the effort to bring the magic and happiness back into my life.

There is still a major void in my heart this year. I still feel slightly numb around this time of year. The magic of the holidays dimmed the moment my mother left this Earth. Her spirit lives on inside of me. I believe that one day, I will be able to face the holidays and smile knowing that my mother is with me. It definitely hasn’t gotten easier but a part of me is starting to accept her passing. I know in my heart that she is at peace and she is no longer suffering. I also know her home in Heaven is completely decked out, there is singing, baking, cooking, and of course, the garland with the lights in it with themed bows around the doorways.

I will continue to sing for you LJ! Merry Christmas!