Surviving the Holidays

"So how are you surviving the holidays?" an acquaintance asked me.

I gave her a patently evasive response. "Well, you know...."

I never completed the sentence.

But it has struck me that "surviving the holidays" was an apt description for my attitude towards this Christmas season. Where I was simultaneously counting the days until time runs out (and I have to have all presents purchased and wrapped; food prepared) and until it is all over.

While this is how I definitely felt in the weeks leading up to Christmas, it might surprise you to know that I did more than survive the day.

At first, it didn't seem likely.

I went to a Blue Christmas service at our church a week before Christmas, designed specifically for those who are struggling during the holidays. I cried almost immediately after the first hymn, "Abide with Me", began. Looking back, the lyrics struck a chord deep inside me.

Fast falls the eventide

The darkness deepens

Lord, with me abide

When other helpers fail and comforts flee!

Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

(Truly, if you knew my whole life's situation, you would understand why "Help of the helpless" can resound with me.)

I cried not in a demure, sobbing way. No, I was wracked with grief, so much so that my nose started running as I tried to stop crying. Of course, I did not have any tissues in my purse, so I had to get up and find some in the narthex of the church. (Thankfully, I found a box, and I imagined that I blew my nose loud enough to disrupt the service. Maybe, maybe not.)

Soon enough, I found myself pulled into the service and the message of hope and comfort... and the prayers. I think I felt so defeated, I was letting it all wash over me.

I remember almost none of it, although I did feel a strange peace as I walked out, avoiding people as I did so (a bit embarrassed by my crying).

I mention this now because I do not know how the tide changed.

Maybe it was this service that changed things for me.

Or maybe it was preparing to play "Carol of the Bells" with my handbell choir during the week.

Or maybe it was my children's excitement about Santa's imminent arrival. (Come to think of it, this was more annoying to me than anything, but perhaps some of their exuberance was catching.)

Maybe it was the start of the school break, which for me, means a bit of a breather from early mornings, school parking lot "rage", and school obligations.

Or maybe it was a conscious choice I made one morning: that I have to show up for my children. That, however heavy my heart is, my children do not deserve an unhappy Christmas because I did not show up for them.

So I tackled some of the issues on that week leading up to Christmas.

First thing? My Christmas stocking. Man, did I hate the idea of filling my own Christmas stocking.

So I called Lara, who is another single mom. Would she like for me to fill her Christmas stocking? If so, would she mind filling mine?

What I got were easy yeses.

And wouldn't you know? Thinking of making someone else's Christmas a bit nicer brought me a bit of joy.

Second thing? All these things that needed to be done: cleaning, gift-wrapping, and prepping of foods. Which, as it turns out, just require a bit of organization and time.

And help. Which, in my situation, came in the form of my own children.

"Please help me" surprisingly received enthused affirmative responses. (This is not normal, especially the "enthused" part. I am chalking it up to two things: school break and Santa Claus.)

I also decided to simplify Christmas Eve dinner (clam chowder, sourdough bread, and mint chocolate macarons) and Christmas Day dinner (ham, scalloped potatoes, broccoli salad, and cherry pie).

Yes, in my book, these are much simplified menus. Before now (or, when Mike was with us), our holiday dinners were multiple courses of everyone's favorite things. And multiple treats.

Truth be told, I always thought they were a bit much. Too much. But they made him happy.

And making him happy made me happy.

This year, I reminded myself that no one had expectations like his.

Now before you think these "simple" dinners went without a hitch, I have three words for you: clamless clam chowder. Because I inadvertently bought a can of clam juice and not a can of chopped clams in clam juice. And because I literally discovered this as I was making the soup on Christmas Eve, I had to make do.

Thankfully, I had gracious eaters who declared that they couldn't tell the difference. The soup was chunky and flavorful, and they all ate every last bit of my "chowder fail". (I am glad for this small mercy.)

On Christmas Day, I honored Mike's memory by making his favorite dessert: cherry pie. It was beautiful and delicious.

In years past, this pie would've been all eaten by the end of the second day of Christmas.

This time, however, there was a reluctance to eat it, even as everyone declared it was just as good as always. (We still have leftover pie as I write this at the close of the third day of Christmas.)

Half-eaten pie

My daughter now tells me that the pie made her sad. The other said that it tasted the same, but it was also somehow different.

As for the rest of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, I must say that I felt an unexpected lightness. Even joy. Even after one of us said, "I feel like we are forgetting something" and knowing exactly what she meant.

It may be because I wasn't stuck in the kitchen (although I did manage to bake both a pie and a sourdough boule sometime between a nap and a game of pickleball on Christmas Day).

It may be because we went to two different Christmas Eve services. Not only did I enjoy making music with my handbell choir, but I also enjoyed all the familiar Christmas hymns. I also enjoyed our church's Christmas traditions: the children building the nativity scene, the annual Christmas ornament, and singing "Silent Night" by candlelight. These things truly filled my heart with joy.

It may be my daughter singing harmony beside me as we sang Christmas songs.

It may be filling my children's stockings and leaving Santa's gifts under the tree. And eating a cookie and downing the milk that were left for him (and feeding the reindeer's carrots to the dog).

It may be watching their glee and practiced restraint on Christmas morning.

It may be all the Merry Christmas greetings we received from friends and family throughout the day, even from across the Pacific Ocean.

It may be our simple lunch of a makeshift charcuterie board followed by a non-competitive game of pickleball.

Surely, much of it would be for reflecting on the true meaning of Christmas and reaffirming the source of our Joy. Although I have heard the story multiple times from early childhood and heard the same messages from the pulpit every year, all these things still felt new and renewing this time around. I think, perhaps, because I am hearing it all from a different place in my life.

Mostly, I think my joy was the result of mindfulness and intent. For showing up for myself and for my family. For deciding to be present and not drown in obligations and expectations.

Our decorations have been sparse, and our celebrations, devoid of excess. Mostly because we no longer have a Christmas Elf in our midst (Mike).

But I think this is exactly what we needed.

We didn't hold too fast to all the old traditions, even as we honored some of them. And in so doing, it all felt less constricting, and I felt like I could actually breathe.

Now, days later, my children are still saying to me, "What a good Christmas we had! Thank you, Mommy." I am holding on to this feedback. It brings me joy.

It is also all the proof I need to show that I am more than surviving this holiday season.