Why I Care About Christmas

It's about this time every year that I freak out about Christmas. The tree is up but not decorated, nothing is wrapped (and there's plenty left to buy), there are not enough cookies, Beatrix is rolling into final exams, I'm sick (in what seems to be an unwelcome new holiday tradition), and it all seems like a ton of pressure. If you search "Christmas" on my blog, you'll find a lot of similar posts.

Friends have advice - "Just pick one or two things that matter." "Trim back the decorations." "No one care about the cookie tray." I love that they care enough to say these things.

But here's the thing. For my mom, Christmas was The Thing. She loved it; she loved decorating, going to holiday events, baking cookies, making lefse (ok maybe not so much), shopping, crafting, Toys for Tots, Christmas lights tours, luminary, cheesy Christmas specials, Dayton's 8th floor, poinsettias, holiday cocktails, parties, caroling (though she could not sing) — everything about it. For god's sake, my parents divorced when I was two and she even talked my dad into going out with me to cut down a tree every year and then helping to get it up and the lights on so we could decorate it.

And each year as we inch closer to December 12 (the day she went into the hospital) and December 25 (the day she died), I'm acutely aware of this.

I'm aware of how unfair that is that she's missing out on Christmas. And I'm trying to really make the most of it because she cannot. So maybe no one really cares — but maybe somehow she does. And so no, I can't let it go.



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