I won't be home for Christmas. I haven't been home for the holiday since 2009. In February 2010, my oldest brother was killed in a car accident and we haven't spent the holiday at home ever since. Now, my family ventures somewhere new for Christmas each year, opening presents under the dim glow of hotel lamps and eating a Christmas dinner at a restaurant instead of around our dining room table. Don't get me wrong, I love our Christmas trips and I look forward to them every year. My parents go out of their way to make them as special as possible for us, and they do an outstanding job. The trips give my family quality time that we can't always get at home, being surrounded by friends and work and responsibilities. We get time to remember my brother together, to tell stories about him and reminisce on times that feel so recent and so distant simultaneously. We also get to explore new parts of the world, experience Christmas through the lens of other cultures. Every day of our Christmas trips offers more to learn, more to love, and another adventure to cherish forever. I've made memories on these trips that I wouldn't trade for the world. This year we are going to Iceland and I am lucky enough to spend Christmas looking at the Northern Lights and feeling the spirit of my brother among the great wilderness of the North he adored so dearly.
Still though, there are days when I mourn our old Christmas traditions. Before my brother died, we spent every Christmas morning eating cinnamon rolls at our kitchen table and gathering around the tree in our living room, my dad's video camera held too close to our faces as we opened our presents, and listening to Christmas music that permeated through the whole house and filled our hearts with the warmth that is only felt at Christmastime. My mom read us The Night Before Christmas every year without fail, and I always looked forward to curling up in her lap while I listened to the familiar story. I cherish these memories and I miss those Christmas days but I know that Christmas at home would never feel the same without my brother. It just wouldn't make sense without him, it would feel wrong somehow. Empty.
The holidays are always hard for people who are grieving. They are a reminder of what used to be and what isn't anymore. They are a time to celebrate family, but that's difficult when your family isn't whole. It's important to remember the old days but to also find joy in the new ones. The first Christmas away from home was the hardest because I didn't understand why losing my brother meant every aspect of my life, every tradition I held close to my heart, had to change. Now, I look forward to the trips and am grateful for the new memories I've gained. It's still hard, but I've learned that where I am for Christmas does not matter. The holiday is about being together, about taking the time to remember those we have lost, and about letting our hearts be lifted by the eternal love we share. No matter where I am for Christmas, as long as I am with my family, I am home.
