So, This Is Christmas...
It has been a while since Christmases have felt…well, like Christmas. For a while there, they fully lost their sparkle and, dare I say it, their joy, too. I never thought I – the Santa-loving, magic-believing, North Pole-letter-writing, Three Kings-obsessed (tall) elf of a girl– would ever feel so dull at Christmas time, but Life provided a crash course in change, adaptability and resilience.
I look back and can remember my mom trying so hard to make our first few Christmases in the U.S. sparkly, despite our circumstances. When asked whether Santa would be able to understand my Spanish-written letter or find us in our new tiny home, she would assure my brother and me that, yes, of course. Santa can do anything. But I could see the sadness in her eyes – a longing for something I wouldn’t understand until so many years later, when suddenly my sense of “home” felt far away, too.
For us immigrants, home feels especially far at Christmas, but it’s only now that I finally understand what my mom missed, what she so nostalgically longed for: the long tables sprinkled with extended family; the warm Noche Buena night spent in the patio waiting for Papa Noel to arrive; the hand-made dishes and snacks that kept on coming; her mom smiling at the head of the table, taking in the family she had so beautifully built.
For years, that home-away-from-home in the States was made of four pillars: Papi, Mami, Tizi and me. The fact that I never really sensed what was missing is a testament to my parents’ desire and commitment to nurture this sense of home for us. Despite the shortage in gifts, family and gatherings over the years, Christmas always felt warm – full of love and hope and magic.
It wasn’t until my mom passed away in 2013, exactly one month before Christmas Eve, that my sense of home was completely shaken. When my dad’s passing followed in early 2016, Christmases, at least as I knew them, drastically changed. All of the things that had for so long ensured the season would feel warm and hopeful and magical were gone – and with them my desire to celebrate it.
But, as it turns out, the spirit of Christmas ebbs and flows through all of us, whether we acknowledge it or not, and, if we give it time, if we dare listen to its subtle, jingle-bell’ed nudge, we find ourselves once again enveloped and believing in its magic. My man Santa really can do anything.
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I recently stumbled upon an old blog post (see below) I wrote nine years ago (back when I was still writing on Tumblr and not really sharing it with anyone). What a different reality Christmas 2011 was, in so many ways! I never thought that it could change, not that soon, and certainly not that drastically.
But today, as we get ready to soon close out a fiction-inspiring doozy of a year, I’m reminded, more than ever, of all of those things I’ve held dear and that for so long have defined Christmas – and home – to me. And I’m comforted by knowing I’ve always been most touched by and grateful for the season’s simplicity. Deep within me, home has and always will be there. Christmas magic finds a way of taking care of that.
MERRY CHRISTMAS. FELIZ NAVIDAD. BUON NATALE. ❤
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Written Dec. 24, 2011:
In one of my favorite Christmas-themed films of all time, Miracle on 34th Street, Kris Kringle himself states:
“For the past 50 years or so I’ve been getting more and more worried about Christmas. Seems we’re all so busy trying to beat the other fellow in making things go faster and look shinier and cost less that Christmas and I are sort of getting lost in the shuffle.”
That was in 1947, when things that went faster and looked shinier and cost less paled in comparison to all that’s available to us today. Yet, it seems the pattern of a materialistic culture has remained disturbingly timeless.
I stopped “believing” in Santa Claus at age 10 on my second Christmas in the U.S., when my parents were forced – by a financially difficult situation – to inform their wide-eyed Christmas-enthusiastic daughter that Santa would likely disappoint her that year. How does one inform their child that they simply cannot afford to play “Santa” in the same manner as the other “Santas” who were fulfilling her peers’ Christmas wish list? Without a doubt, my love for my parents grew exponentially at that very moment.
Every Christmas since has thus been about nothing to do with gifts and everything about enjoying time with my parents and friends. Because our family is divided between Argentina and Italy, long gone are the days of huge family gatherings, delightful homemade treats, and in-person visits from Santa, yet we’ve managed to form a new scaled-back tradition of simply being together.
This year, as I reflect on Christmases past, I can’t help but smile at every single one of them, knowing that they’ve been perfectly perfect in their own imperfect way. And I can’t help but ponder, isn’t that what Christmas is all about?
When the gifts are gifted and unwrapped, when the tree is stowed, when the lights are turned off, and Santa heads back to the North Pole, what are we truly left with?
At Christmastime and at every other time, I challenge us to think about the essence of the season – whatever you may perceive it to be. I challenge us to take a moment (or several moments) of silence away from the chaos of holiday shopping and from checking things off our lists to simply be.
Be grateful. Be kind. Be healthy. Be merry.
