The holidays are always complicated for me. Every December brings a flood of memories and emotions that I’d rather keep tucked away. Christmas was my mother’s favorite holiday, and her birthday falls just a few days before it. If she were still alive, she’d be turning 82 this year. Instead, I’m left remembering that in February 1998, I found her after she chose to end her own life. She warned so many people the night before, but no one reached out to me until it was too late. It’s something I still struggle to fully comprehend. Since then, December through February has become this long, heavy stretch of time where I find myself missing her, feeling her absence in every twinkling light and familiar holiday tune.
I’ve never gotten comfortable with the ache that the holidays bring. While everyone else seems wrapped up in festive joy, I’d be just as happy if the whole season simply disappeared. Still, I’ve learned to keep moving forward, even if my steps feel slow and uncertain. I suppose that’s why I’m looking ahead to the new year with more hope than I’ve had in a while. There’s something about the start of a new year that offers a clean slate, a chance to dream again, to set goals, to believe in new beginnings. After the last year or so—where it felt like life was turning me inside out—it’s a relief to think that I might rewrite my story.
I had to begin again at 60, and I’m still feeling my way through it. It’s hard work trying to rebuild when you’re not even sure what the final picture should look like. Sometimes I feel exhausted, like I’m patching up pieces of myself one at a time. Yet even through this weariness, there’s a quiet strength that comes from my faith. God holds me together when I feel like I’m barely holding on. His promises keep me from surrendering to despair. I believe that eventually I will feel whole again, that time will carry me to a season of restoration and purpose.
For now, I acknowledge the hurt that December brings. I honor my mother’s memory, even if it comes with lingering questions and regrets. And I lean forward, into the next year, trusting that I’ll continue to learn, grow, and heal. I’m choosing hope, even on days when it’s hard to find. It’s all I can do: keep believing that a new start is just on the other side of these long months, and that I’ll be stronger when I reach it.
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