Year after year I keep waiting for this season to get easier. Easier to handle, easier to enjoy, easier to get into the spirit of a holiday that has always taken up the most space in my memories.

Christmas.

I’m a December baby. Born on the 19^th, I’m far enough away from the 25^th that I don’t often get 1-for-both-gifts, but close enough that I usually get gifts throughout that week, making it feel like my birthday lasts right up until Christmas, and then starts all over again. My mama always, always made a big deal about our birthdays. You got to choose breakfast and supper, and no matter how much money we didn’t have, there was always your favorite cake, and that one gift you just had to have. I often compromised, getting one big gift, like a bike, for both my birthday and Christmas. My mama always had something special to give me on my birthday, and even to this day, I still don’t know how she did it.

My brothers and I were always aware that we were poor. The kind of poor where we went without heat, showered at rec centers, and washed our clothes in the kitchen sink. You would think that Christmas would’ve been a holiday where we really went without. But Christmas in our house wasn’t about what WE got for gifts, is was what we were able to give our mama. As kids, I remember our school had an annual Christmas Bazaar in the gym. My brothers and I would pool our money together to get the best gift for her. There was nothing more exciting than to walk from table to table, back and forth, until we all finally agreed on her gift.

And then there was the wait. To this day, I cannot buy a Christmas present early without giving it to that person early. It’s only the fifth, and I already gave my youngest niece and nephew their gifts. But this is what our mother instilled in us – this is what Christmas is really about. The excitement and joy you get picking out gifts for others, putting so much thought and effort into it, and then carrying that feeling until Christmas Day(ish); that’s the definition of “the Christmas spirit.” At least, that’s what we were taught, and it stayed with us as we got older. Age gives you perspective, and we soon realized the lengths our mama had gone to almost every single year to make sure the gifts under the tree weren’t just socks, candy, and whatever gift cards she got from her students that she didn’t think twice about giving to us, instead of using it for herself. I do recall the few years that my brothers and I realized we were one of those paper ornaments hanging on the Angel Tree at our church. Though no one actually knew it was for us, it was embarrassing. We realized, in comparison to our friends and classmates, just how poor we were. I also know that not every Christmas was like this. There were some where our dad managed to have a job, and Christmas was a bit more selfish. Still, our mama would have us take one item of our list, and donate it, because we knew full and well what it was like to be disappointed on Christmas morning.

This year, Christmas 2017, will be the tenth Christmas that will be spent with my mama watching from heaven. This will also be the tenth Christmas where I fight off depression and dark thoughts that only get darker and more alarming with each passing year. Having the one person who made Christmas mean so much be so obviously absent has created a black hole around this season. When our mama died, she took our family’s Christmas Spirit with her, because she was the center of it all. As we got older, had jobs and money, the gifts we bought her were almost too much. But we didn’t care. She went to great lengths to make sure every Christmas was filled with more excitement than disappointment, and each one was.

Until Christmas 2008. Our dad had died that March, and mama followed in September. I really hadn’t given any thought to Christmas until it arrived. I’m not sure whose idea it was, but we went out and bought our mama a gift anyway. We bought her favorite scented Yankee candle, a lavender one. That year, I kept the candle. The following year, we did the same thing, and have since kept up the tradition, and take turns keeping the candle. Christmas hasn’t gotten any easier all these years later, and I only have myself to blame. When you believe your life will end up one way, it only seems to go out of its way to prove to you it’s the one charge, not you.

*Continue reading about the struggles of Christmas with a missing loved one in Part 2*