Evergreen Season

A reflection on my grief during the holidays

Christmas has never been my holiday.

I have always felt quieter and more reflective at this time of year, far less “cheery,” so engaging in the merriment often felt forced, or obligatory. Being an autumn creature, I have always felt far more in sync with the fall holidays. This year, though, something shifted.

In the wake of a grief-stricken year, one that left me feeling as though I had lost the very foundation of my bone matrix and cellular structure, I found myself uncharacteristically warmed by evergreens adorned with lights and colored baubles. There was something in the way the lights reflected off their branches that stirred a gentle, unexpected joy. I felt it settle quietly in my chest. Before I knew it, I was making Yule gifts and ornaments, baking cookies for friends and family, and leaning into a season I had never truly felt was my own.

I decorated my mother’s shrine, which has become a strong and steady presence in what I now call my altar room. I dug out her little Peanuts Christmas tree and adorned it with various birds and one very special fox ornament I know she would have loved. Foxes were one of her soul animals, along with the bat and the cardinal. But I think she resonated most deeply with the spirit of the fox’s clever resilience (a story for another day, perhaps).

As I continued the march toward the 25th, i realized that this joy I was experiencing was not entirely my own. It was hers. A joy she had planted in me long ago, one that had waited patiently for the right moment to surface.

You see, for my mom, Christmas was her holiday. She loved Santa and magick, the ritual of baking (she was without a doubt a kitchen witch), the wrapping of gifts, and the way small acts of care could bring light to the faces of the people she loved. Despite the many struggles of her life, she wanted those around her to feel cherished. This season embodied that hope for her, year after year. And she was always, just a little, disappointed that I didn’t share the same enthusiasm.

So now, as I sip my coffee and nibble on gingerbread and chocolate chip cookies, my grandmother’s recipe, of course, I am choosing to let this joy carry me for as long as it will. I am letting it wrap its arms around me through this season of firsts without her.

Because as time moves forward, I am beginning to see it clearly now. She is still here with me.

A living light, quietly buried in my heart.

---

Thank you to all of you for being here. I’m wishing you and your loved ones a beautiful and bright holiday. And so much love. ✨

~ Gina