Yes, I know that by the calendar, the big day is still a week away. But Christmas is a season, not a moment. And as I look around my house - my world - the season is very much in full swing. There's a stack of wrapped gifts sitting in my office corner. There's another secret stash stowed safely away in the garage... gifts that I have managed to purchase, wrap, and hide without Gavin being any the wiser. There's an elf sitting on our kitchen table, finishing off a candy cane as I speak. There's two trees adorned and twinkling. An inflatable Santa waves at us from the frond veranda. There's cards on the counter. The house smells like cinnamon. Gavin has emptied the chocolate from not one but two advent calendars. Rudolph is playing - on both the television and the radio. And an excited little man is busy crossing days off the calendar as he anxiously awaits.
There is little doubt that Christmas has both arrived and is near...
Christmas has changed a lot for me since Kurt died. With a four year old in the house, there are smiles and excitement, and you can't help but get swept up in it all. But the twinkle, the sparkle of the season has gone. As much as I try to stop myself, I wander the store shelves not only looking for the perfect gift for Gavin, but for my husband too. Looking at row upon row of this and that, wondering what I would have put under his tree this year. What he would have put under mine.
I miss the opportunity to wander into the mens wear section with a purpose. To scout out electronics in search of the perfect gadget. To hide the butter tarts so there will be some left for Santa. To fill his stocking. I miss the opportunity to make him smile.
And as much as we only had one Christmas as a family of three, I miss the opportunity to do it all together. To make a shopping date night as we scout out the sought after toy. To fight over whether the lights are being put up correctly. To watch Rudolph on the couch long after Gavin is asleep. To as a team lay the gifts out under the tree. To split the milk and cookies. To roll over and say Merry Christmas on Christmas morning.
I don't know what our Christmases of late would have been like had we all been together. But I can still imagine them. Dream of them. Long for them. I'm sure they would have been wonderful...
Which brings me back to my Christmas of today. No longer is it about the little things that make memories for me. Its all about the little things that make memories for Gavin. While I go about my laundry list of things that need to be done alone, each one is done with a purpose. To foster my little man's excitement. To make my son smile. Because it is now in his smile that I find my own. In his magic that I can find any for myself.
Every year, my Christmas changes a little. I see a little more shine back in the day, in the season. Yes, the build up is still a lot of work. And I have my share of melt downs and Bah-humbug moments. Days that I want to fall asleep and wake up in January. But I can now pause to appreciate the lights too. I don't turn and run from the tree. I don't cry while he sits on Santa's knee. And I can usually find some joy in a little boy's wonder, his smile. While I may not embrace it as I did in days past, I can't say I hate the holidays, either. Not entirely, anyhow. My Christmas spirit is certainly not back overflowing. There's still probably more Grinch than Kris Kringle lurking inside. But I know that spirit is out there somewhere. Hidden in those sands which I wash away a little more with each passing year. I don't know if what I feel is healing, or just acceptance. Or just change. But I do know it is different from last year. And certainly different from three years past...
I understand, accept, that for Gavin this is all normal. This is what he knows. His holiday season consists of me and him, making traditions and memories on our own. I cannot deny a little boy his memories of Christmas. I know how precious mine are to me. And so I face the day, the season, with this strange combination of happiness and sadness, anticipation of tomorrow and nostalgia for yesterday. This paradox, this conflict has become my constant companion, my constant struggle. But it is what it is, and it isn't all bad.
And next year may be even a little better....
I will always long for what I had. Wonder what could have been. But that doesn't mean I can't appreciate what I have.... And I don't have everything. Without Kurt, I can't. I probably never will.
But I still have a lot...
And so this is Christmas. And what have we done? Another year over. And the new one just begun...
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