Opting Out of Christmas

On Christmas, it will be exactly three months since S died. Right before Thanksgiving, I had a realization: I cannot participate in Christmas this year, at least not in the way I usually do. Not in the baking-shopping-crafting-FedExing-oh-my-god-will-they-like-this-birdfeeder way. So, without agonizing over it, I unilaterally opted out of all of that. I hope everyone will understand.

I did all of my shopping for the girls in a 15-minute spree on Amazon. I haven’t baked a single cookie, folded a single paper star ornament or fought for a single parking space at the mall. I haven’t festooned a damned thing.

I have spent time with friends, giggled with my daughters and taken long bubble baths. I have thought so much about the promise of the new year and so little about making sure the Ice Moose is always full of homemade cookies. And somehow, against all odds, I feel far better than I usually do five days before Christmas.

Rarely do I make decisions with such absolute certainty. I’m not a big risk taker and I tend to noodle over things until even the best ideas wilt under the scrutiny. Looking back to the times I’ve felt so certain, though, I realize that my instincts are pretty good – the best decisions I’ve ever made never involved lists of pros and cons.

I don't think my daughters will remember the year their dad died as "the one where Mom didn't put ribbons on any of our presents, and the tags didn't even match the paper!" My hope is that their memory will be more sweet than bitter, because we know he's no longer suffering, because we have each other and because we have the most amazing family and friends anyone could ask for.