Passing the Advent Candle

Two weeks after we said goodbye to our momma, Molly and I sat across the kitchen table, dumbfounded and staring at each other. Somehow, we were in charge of Christmas. We had always helped with Christmas and of course organized our own kids' gifts and special events. Christmas, though, was still her domain - the matriarch of the family running the show.

So there we sat, trying to make a list of food to cook through the grief of fog, and we realized we didn't know how to make stuffing. Not a clue. Neither one of us had ever been in charge of it and we had foolishly always thought we had more time to learn from her. With few options, we did what any one would do in 2013... turned to Facebook, snagged a recipe from a cousin, and shouldered on. For the kids. For our dad. For our husbands. That was our first Christmas without her. Our first Christmas as the moms - the only moms - in charge of producing all the Christmas magic.

My sweet daddy has always been involved at Christmas, just as RB has, but moms really run the show. They are the rememberers of your favorite candy for your stocking and which dessert makes which (totally grown up and capable of cooking it on their own) child happy. They are the late nighters who wrap all your gifts to perfection, even if you have reached the age where you know exactly what you are getting, just so you have something beautiful to unwrap come Christmas morning. They are the cheerleaders who remind you that you don't have to do it all to make your children have a valued, memorable Christmas and constantly remind you of the real reason for the day. They are the arms that hug and spoil and cherish your babies just as much - sometimes if not more - than you do. They are the magic makers who somehow make it all seem full of wonder and perfect, even through the burnt turkeys and accidentally wrapped empty boxes.

It is a weighty challenge, this planning a Christmas as a motherless-daughter. It is constantly walking on a tightrope - your heart bursting with love as you see your own babies enjoy the magic of Christmas while simultaneously breaking because your own mom isn't there to witness and enjoy it. Taking on your own role as planner and baker and magic maker while feeling completely unready and unprepared and unfit to fill her shoes. Establishing your own family traditions while honoring those that were carried out so lovingly and faithfully your entire childhood. Loving this new time in your life as you see your own babies grow and flourish while wishing desperately to turn back the clock, even just a few years to have her for one more precious holiday. No matter how old you are or how long she has been gone, I think Christmas is always a little less without your own mom. There is always something slightly wanting.

So to the other motherless-daughters, those who share in the sisterhood of grieving with me, I hope you feel your moms this Christmas every step of the way. That you see her in the ornaments that she so lovingly helped you to hang while you guide your own precious little ones' hands as you decorate. That you remember the long, often hilarious, sometimes trying, hours in the kitchen with her as you see her handwriting in your well-loved cookbooks. That you feel her in the hugs you give your babies as you put them to bed with the same tenderness and love with which she used to tuck you in on Christmas Eve pasts. That you see the pictures of her young and smiling, new babies resting on her hip, and remember that she too had to start somewhere with the magic. 

Merry Christmas to all our friends and family - may the love of the season surround and comfort you all year long.