CW: Death
Today is Christmas Eve. Christmas is about more than buying things. It is a time to reflect on old memories and make new ones. It is a time where family and friends gather together to share love, laughter, and good food.
As an adult, Christmas Eve has become a day of reminiscing about the past. Christmas has always been one of my favorite holidays. One of my favorite things about Christmas is the traditions.
For years, we went to the same Christmas tree farm. The owners took a family picture every year. They often had hot chocolate and cookies as well. We had a real tree when I was growing up. I loved the smell of the Fraser firs.
A couple of weeks ago, I went to my mom’s house to bake Christmas cookies. At 26, I still enjoy baking cookies with my mom, especially the decorating part. We also watched the 1964 Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer TV special, and Frosty the Snowman.
As a child, Christmas Eve was filled with anticipation of what Santa Claus would bring. I loved leaving out cookies, milk, and carrots for the reindeer.
I remember trying to listen for Santa Claus’s sleigh. I would wonder what presents would be under the Christmas tree. The hours could never go by fast enough.
I have so many wonderful memories of the holidays during my childhood. My family made the holiday season special. Home videos show how exciting Christmas morning was. I received a toy cash register when I was three and a book about Elmo. I couldn’t wait to read it.
Yet this year, the holiday season feels different, heavier, quieter, and bittersweet. This year, I’ve felt adrift. My grandmother was placed on hospice in May following a broken hip. The past seven months have been an emotional rollercoaster. I wish I could trade places with her. Watching someone you love struggle with pain and frailty changes your view of the world. It makes gratitude harder to hold onto, but also more important.
Then came a loss. My longtime paraprofessional passed away in September after a long battle with breast cancer. She had been in my life since preschool. She was more than a paraprofessional; she was a constant presence, a steady voice, and a comfort. I can’t remember a time when she was not in my life. Her absence creates a hollow space I keep encountering, especially now when traditions remind me of the people who shaped me.
So this Christmas, I find myself caught between grief and gratitude. I am thankful for the years I’ve had with my grandmother and for my paraprofessional’s unwavering support. I appreciate the resilience they have both showed me, even during their toughest days. But I am also grieving; the losses, the changes, and the voice I will never hear again.
This year reminded me that growing up does not mean outgrowing the people who shape you; it means learning to carry them differently. Some remain beside you, their presence steady, familiar. Others become memories you revisit in quiet moments-their influence still guiding you even when their voice is no longer there to answer back.
I’m learning that grief doesn’t cancel out joy, and joy doesn’t erase grief. They sit side by side, intertwined in ways I never understood as a child. Back then, Christmas was simple. It was filled with bright lights, wrapped surprises, and the thrill of believing in magic. Now the magic feels quieter, more fragile, but also more real. It’s in the little things: the smell of cookies in my mom’s kitchen, the soft glow of the tree at night, the stories we tell to keep the people we love close.
Maybe that’s what this Christmas is teaching me, that love doesn’t disappear when life changes. It shifts, it stretches, it aches, but it remains. And even in the heaviness of this year, there are moments of warmth that remind me I’m still connected to the people I miss. Their lessons, their kindness, their laughter-they’re all still here, threaded through the traditions I keep and the memories I hold.