Christmas Without Mama

by Cheryl Green

My mom and I were total opposites.

She was the definition of classy and ladylike. She had a great sense of humor, and on occasion could be shockingly raw, although no one outside the family ever saw that side. She was an educator, known for her sense of style and fashion, and unyielding with her values and opinions about how young ladies should act. I, on the other hand, was a rebel…loud and always looking for opportunities to make others laugh. While this often embarrassed her (I was called “ignorant” many times), she was also amused by it. She loved to say that she sent me to charm school, modeling school, ballet and tap and I still acted a fool.

Yet, I was my mother’s favorite. I know it. They say parents aren’t supposed to have favorites, but you can’t convince me that as her only daughter, I wasn’t hers. An only daughter means that you have a built-in best friend and confidante. Someone you can shop with and perhaps even live vicariously through.

I can still remember how she went all out in giving gifts to her children. Even as adults we’d have at least five or six wrapped presents to open and some unwrapped “Santa” gifts that we’d see in the morning when we’d come downstairs — just like when we were kids. Years after I moved to DC, I’d often bring friends home to Chicago to stay and visit with me. They were always amazed because she would treat them as if they were her own children. For Christmas she’d make sure they had gifts under the tree to open. She was extremely generous, a quality about her that I loved and hated, mostly because I’d see people take advantage of her at times.

The extremely close relationship that I had with my mom, coupled with her love for the Christmas season, made getting through the holidays almost unbearable the first few years after she transitioned in 2014. I’d cry every time I’d hear one of her favorite Christmas songs. I refused to send Christmas cards the first few years because I didn’t like sending one to everyone but her. I stopped decorating my house. I struggled with what to do upon waking up on Christmas and not spending it with her or singing her my traditional song (“Merry Chrima’ Baby!”). I just wanted the day to be over. In a word, Christmas sucked.

After she passed, there was no shortage of advice from well-meaning friends and acquaintances with recommendations on what to do to make getting through the holidays easier. I know they were and are coming from a good place — trying to be helpful, not wanting me to be sad. But grief, and how we work through it, is individual. Everything from how long it takes to grieve, to how and when we adjust to our new normal, will vary from person to person. There is no right or wrong way to grieve, and, quite frankly, no time schedule.

If I’m totally honest, Christmas is only slightly better six years later. I still have angst every year, beginning shortly after Thanksgiving until the days leading up to Christmas, praying that I will make it through. But, I am back to sending Christmas cards. I can now listen to her favorite carols and smile and often even laugh because I can hear her off-key singing “O Holy Night” in my head. A tear — or a few — will still roll down my face as I remember the many wonderful Christmases we spent together as a family. I still don’t decorate, but nowadays it’s more out of laziness than grief.

I’ve chosen to start the day in silence and meditation. In meditation and prayer, I can almost feel her presence and hear her voice talking to me in the stillness of the morning. I take that time to honor her and thank her for being the wonderful mom she was. I tell her I miss her and that I’m grateful for all of the wonderful Christmases that SHE made happen. I apologize for all the things I may have said or done that hurt her, and I may journal as well. Starting the day this way centers me and sets the right tone for me to have a spirit of gratitude rather than sadness that permeates the day.

I continue to explore ways to spend the Christmas season honoring my mom and carrying on her legacy. One year it may mean adopting a family for Christmas, another year it may mean playing Secret Santa. I simply follow my spirit, knowing that whatever I choose to do is ok, even if it is nothing.

I am grateful that I had my mom for 57 wonderful years. I know others have not been as fortunate... Thank you, God, for the gift of your Son and for the gift of my mother.