Christmas blues...

I sat down tonight with one of those deep, theatrical sighs — the kind that would make a soap‑opera star proud. I’d just gotten off the phone with my mother in North Carolina, and bless her heart, she is not feeling the Christmas spirit this year. This is our first holiday season without my grandmother, and all six of her remaining children seem to be sinking into a collective funk. Mom hasn’t even bothered to put up a tree. No lights. No garland. Not even a sad little ceramic angel from 1972. For the first time in 45 years, there will be no big family Christmas with cousins running around and casseroles multiplying on every flat surface.

And that hits harder than I expected.

Some of my best childhood memories — the ones that still smell like pine needles, ham, and wrapping paper — are of Christmas Eve at my grandparents’ house. Cousins everywhere, aunts and uncles laughing, food for days, and presents piled under the tree like we were auditioning for a Sears holiday catalog. I haven’t been home on Christmas Day since 1987. I always went the week before or after to avoid the chaos. But this year, for the first time in 17 years, I was actually going to be there on the day.

And now… well, now I’m not.

We’ve been through holiday grief before — after my father died, after my grandfather died — but this time feels heavier. Maybe because it really does feel like the end of an era. The closing of a chapter none of us were ready to finish. Life goes on, of course, and I know each year will get a little easier. But right now, it’s just sad.

Mom and her sister are coming out to visit in two weeks, and I’m clinging to the hope that a Mexico cruise and a Disneyland trip will shake loose some joy. If margaritas and Mickey Mouse can’t help, we may need to call in professional reinforcements.

In the meantime, I’m determined to make this Christmas the best it can be — to spend it with people I love and let that be enough. My grandmother and I were incredibly close, and I’m grateful that nothing was left unsaid between us. I called her twice a month, sometimes for hours, and those conversations were my emotional security blanket. No matter where I went or what I was going through, she reminded me of who I was and where I came from. That kind of unconditional love is rare, and I treasure it.

If there’s a point to all this rambling — besides getting it off my chest — it’s this: love your people. Treasure them. Don’t let life get so loud that you forget to show up for the ones who matter. The holidays are the perfect time to slow down, sit together, laugh together, cry together, and just be together.

Happy Holidays, and may God bless each of you this season.