Jaci Dawn

It’s Christmas Eve.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

I want to write so much more, but there just aren’t enough words in my vocabulary to express how much it has meant to have people come up beside us this past year. Cousins, friends, strangers, new friends, old friends, Internet people.

Kindness is the greatest gift on Christmas, and the love shown through so many.

And to those who have gone on before us – so many in the past year!  – I think of you often, and the ones you left behind. Friends, spouses, parents, grandparent, siblings, children – you are all in a better place than those of us who remain are, but we carry on here so we can make certain your legacy is never lost.

To all of us who are grieving this Christmas, it’s okay. I hope that I can come up beside you and stand with you. Your loved one was very special. Take your time. Cry. Talk about them. Tell stories. Laugh. Oh, please laugh.

I have always believed in the Miracle of Christmas. Yes, the Birth in that far away stable, a feed bin (manger) for a bed, but also in the mystery of a red-suited fat man who could come into a house with no chimney (or even down a chimney with a fire in it and not get burned!). I believe in Christmas ornaments, no matter how strange. Traditions. Twinkle lights.

Silver bells.

Bells on bobtail. (His tail was bobbed to keep snow from forming ice balls in it, I’m certain – who wants to brush ice balls out of a horse’s tail, let alone pick them out of his hooves?).

The angels bending near the earth.

A star shining so bright that astronomers from far away could follow it to a tiny town in the Middle East.

The joy on children’s faces as they rip into their presents.

Fudge, cookies, and all-day snacks.

SNOW. So many of my own childhood memories swirl around snow on Christmas Day. Sledding, riding inner tubes, playing until I could feel my numb toes rolling around in the tips of my boots. My poor cousin coming down with rheumatic fever after a week spent with us in the icy depths of a Nevada winter.

And death. My Gramps died on December 22, 1972. Dad was with him in St. Anthony, Idaho, and called to say he wouldn’t be home until late on Christmas Day. We were to go ahead with Christmas, but we kids decided not to. It wasn’t Christmas without the Old Grouch home. So, we waited and watched until he pulled into his parking space out front.

We spent Christmas in 2019 in Phoenix with our daughter and her four kids. We spent Christmas in 2020 with our daughter-in-law and her six kids. This year, we spoil the dog in in the comfort of our own home and hope the snow predictions are right on.

Whatever you do, whoever you miss, whoever you mourn – I wish you a simple and happy Christmas. I don’t even care if you believe. Just find a way to smile.

Seasons Greetings.