As I sit here gazing at the Christmas lights and Santas and listen to the trickle of rain outside, I both look forward to the coming chaotic days with our children and remember Christmases past with those who are no longer here. For many of us, especially those of us who have experienced a bit more of life, Christmas is filled with the joy of the season, but it is also filled with sadness. I try to keep that sadness at bay, but a simple song or recipe can instantly spark the tears.

Two years ago my mother spent her final weeks in our home. Those weeks happened to be over the holidays, with her taking her final breath on January 1, 2022. My sister, brother, and I moved Mom to our house on a Friday evening. We knew she had gotten weak, but that night we saw just how weak, and we knew our days with her were numbered. Hospice came in to make those days a bit more bearable, but losing a parent is just never easy. We had lost our father many years before; we knew we were soon to be on our own. Although “orphan” hardly seems an appropriate term for middle-aged adults, it’s exactly how I felt.

Having no parents hurts no matter one’s age. We are never completely ready to let go. We can say “she lived a good, long life” or “she was ready to go” (which she was), but those words do not fill the void. Mom was my go-to when I had news, whether it was small and insignificant or life-changing. She was the one I called early in the morning on my way to work because I knew she would be up. She was blunt and quick-witted, sometimes judgmental, stubborn as hell, and spunky. She was raised during World War II, lost her own father to suicide, lost her husband and was left to raise the three of us, but never lost her faith. She loved her family deeply, although saying those words out loud never came easily for her. One of my kids would say, “I love you, Memaw!” and we would watch her nervously try to find the words. Eventually she was able to tell us she loved us, but nevertheless, we always knew.

Mom’s final weeks with us were truly a blessing. We cried many tears; we laughed as she made little jokes; and we told her we loved her often. Some of her words were so sad. She spoke of dreams not achieved and of her desire to be loved. But mostly she spoke of her pride in her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Her love ran deep for all of us. She might have struggled to express it at times, but in the end we all knew. And it was such a gift to be able to say all the words that should be said throughout life, to show her how much she was loved.

This Christmas I remember not only my mom, but my grandmothers who always shared Christmas with us. I always bake a couple of Grandma Allen’s recipes and use her measuring spoons just to feel her presence. I think of my nephew who was taken far too young. I remember my aunt and uncles, and my friends who celebrate Christmas in Heaven.

I also think often of others who mourn this holiday season. My sweet friend who lost her husband two years ago, but this year has a beautiful new grandson to ease her hurt. My friends who have also lost their mothers; I see their pain and their longing for just one more conversation, one more hug. Parents who have lost children — no parent should ever have to bury a child. For those of you whose holiday table has an empty seat this year, I pray for peace for you. Embrace your family and friends. Love each other deeply and fully. Christmas is a time of singing and laughter and gifts, but for so many it is also a time of sadness and mourning. May your joy and laughter ease your burdens. Merry Christmas to each of you.