12-28-2024 4:00am

Of Christmases Past, Present, and Future

Lesley Misko Editor

by Sean Weaver

Christmas is the time of year where feelings of happiness and joy abound, a holiday where memories of the past year bubble to the surface like little snowflakes in a shaken snow globe. And while this Christmas holds a special place in my heart—in January my husband and I bought our first home together—I have not been able to experience the feelings of joy and happiness that mark the season. They exist on the periphery. But amidst the baking of kiffles and other cookies, gift shopping, light hanging, and visits with friends and family, I have found it hard to truly embrace the season. It is the first time I have felt this way about Christmas, which next to Thanksgiving, is one of my favorite holidays.

This year, I am both happy and sad, stuck in a blissful blue bittersweetness, envious of those who can fully embrace the Christmas spirit. Because while this is our first Christmas in our home, it is also our first one without our fur baby, Monster—in September our beautiful boy crossed the rainbow bridge peacefully in his home. Monster had a beautiful life of 14 years. And while I have slowly found peace in his absence the last few months, I have found it difficult putting up our Christmas decorations, as each piece conjures up a Christmas past. The grey, white, and black faux fur Christmas tree skirt was Monster’s favorite. He would sit patiently as we decorated the tree, waiting for the moment he could crawl under the tree and lay cuddled up in its warmth—nose to toes. And while I thought it would be difficult to lay the tree skirt beneath the tree, I found joy remembering his, the tree lights reflecting in his big mopey eyes.

Not all decorations have brought such happiness. This week I finally found the strength to hang up our Christmas stockings. My husband and I always begin decorating the weekend after Thanksgiving. The moment I found our stockings, I tucked them away, refusing to let the tears come and acknowledge his absence. But I knew they needed to be hung, and I waited for the moment that told me it was time. I started with our red and white stockings, woven like sweaters, lined with fur like the tree skirt, and patterned with images of snowflakes and Christmas trees. I hung them on the wall behind our Christmas tree, staggering them as one does with stockings.

Then, the moment came to hang his. I took a moment to caress the white ‘M’ stitched onto woven sweater material that matched ours, remembering the exact moment we bought the stocking and filled it with his favorite treats. We bought it for our first Christmas on our own without family or friends; we had moved to Louisiana so I could pursue a PhD. I hung it on the wall, first in line alongside his sister’s, which went in the middle, and his baby brother’s, whom we adopted in October, we hung last. Three stockings in order of age for Monster, Marney, and Merlin. The tears came, and my husband and I embraced, working through our grief together. Our home filled with Christmas spirit felt empty without him.

In that moment I realized that finding joy in Christmas is connected to creating new memories in the present, the moments that define what it means to love and have loved. I know that seasons change, and that grief, while temporary, is an equally important feeling alongside happiness. We will have new Christmases, echoes of the past in the form of decorations and sentiments intersecting with the present and future.

But for now, I find peace in remembering what was.