It’s November, and the stores are already jingling away — peppermint everything, plastic snowflakes, and Christmas music playing so early it makes the pumpkins nervous.
Meanwhile, I’m over here wondering if I even care about Christmas this year. Is Finding Christmas spirit after loss really ever possible?
I used to. My mom loved Christmas. She was the magic. She made shortbread that could heal a bad mood and somehow made the whole house smell like hope, pine, and a hint of nutmeg. When she passed in 1995, the sparkle dimmed. Every year since, I’ve tried to rekindle it — put up the lights, hum along to carols, maybe even wrap something without losing the scissors three times. But somehow, it’s never quite the same.
When I was a child, my dad would take us kids out to the gravel pit where he had access through work. We’d spend the day searching for the perfect Christmas tree — the one that wasn’t too thin, or crooked, or missing a side. The air was cold, our cheeks were pink, and when my dad finally cut it down, we felt like we’d found treasure. The smell of fresh pine filled the car all the way home.
For most of my adult life, though, I worked through Christmas — you know, the “Merry Christmas, how many cars do you need?” kind of holidays. Finding Christmas spirit after loss, Maybe this year?
But this year’s different. I’m unemployed. I’m rebuilding. And while money will be tight, I have something I haven’t had in years — time.
The question is, will Christmas spirit find me?
Will it sneak up while I’m watching the original Grinch (the cartoon, not the Jim Carrey chaos), or maybe during A Christmas Carol when Scrooge finally gets it?
Maybe it’ll drift in while I’m eyeing the trees at the garden centre — the real ones, the ones that smell alive. I’d love to bring one home in a big pot and keep it year-round, but I suspect my husband already thinks I have a plant habit. (Which, honestly, I do. But it’s a better addiction than Coke… or even Diet Coke.)
They don’t allow live Christmas trees in my apartment anyway. Plastic ones just don’t feel right — they pretend to be alive, but we both know they’re faking it.
So maybe I’ll find my spirit somewhere else this year. Maybe in the quiet. In the twinkle lights reflecting off the window. In the memory of my mom’s laughter when she found the perfect ornament spot on the tree.
Or maybe — just maybe — I’ll find it next to the little ceramic Christmas tree my mom crafted with me back in the ’80s. The one that still glows softly when I plug it in. Maybe that’s the only tree I need.
✨ Stay tranquil, my friends. ✨
