Merry Christmas- Memories, Meaning, and Me

Merry Christmas.

This one feels different.

This is the first Christmas I am truly aware of how much of a gift it is just to be here. Surviving cancer has a way of slowing everything down and turning your heart up real loud. Today, gratitude feels heavier and sweeter at the same time.

I keep thinking about Christmas as a little girl. All of us packed into that house, my four younger siblings and me, my mama and my stepdad telling us Santa wasn’t coming until we went to sleep. My sister and I who shared a bedroom lying there wide awake, staring at the light glowing under our closed bedroom door, listening as bikes, boxes, and bags quietly rolled down that short hallway. When morning came, the living room was covered in gifts especially for my brothers who were the youngest. We weren’t rich, but we were blessed. And we knew it.

After we opened our gifts, I would head down the street to see my best friend. Still riding the high of Christmas morning. We would compare our gifts, and somehow we always had some of the same things. 357 shoes. MC Hammer pants. Other clothes that made us feel connected, like sisters. It wasn’t about who had more. It was about the joy of seeing our lives reflect each other in those small, meaningful ways.

Then there were the Christmases with my dad. Just me, him, my stepmom, and my stepbrother and my stepsister would come by. Most of the day was spent playing the new video games he bought. It was way different than Christmas with my brothers and sisters.

When I had my son at fifteen, Christmas became all about him. I still remember crying his first Christmas because I chose to go to work at Waffle House and make double pay. I told myself I was doing what I had to do, but my mama heart hurt anyway.

Years later, I was so proud when I finally bought a house big enough to host everybody. My grandma. Her twins, my mama and my aunt. All of their kids and grandchildren. We cooked together, played games, laughed, argued a little, and loved a lot. Those were loud, beautiful Christmases. I was so proud of myself for being able to live out a dream from my childhood of having my family all together.

Then there was the Christmas where it was just me and my granddaughter. Just like I did for my son’s first Christmas, her mama had to work on her daughter’s first Christmas. And I got to be the one there. Holding her. Loving her. Creating memories I now treasure even more.

Now Christmas is different. Everyone has their families and are doing their own thing. I’m not alone but sometimes feel I am…still grateful. I put on my little Christams outfit, and video called my grands, my neices, my friends and some family trying to rekindle a little Christmas spirit.

Still grateful.

Grateful for every version of Christmas that shaped me. Grateful for the memories that still make me smile and the ones that still make me ache. Grateful for the people I love, near and far. Grateful for the perspective cancer gave me. Grateful that I get to see this Christmas at all.

This year, presence is the present.

And that is more than enough.