As we often do, the Hubbs and I spent some time yesterday dissecting the holiday.. the new traditions we’ve started (ordering pizza for Christmas eve instead of me spending
the day cooking), how fun it was having the grand-babes around, and how bittersweet it was to have his stepfather with us on Christmas day without the hubb’s mom. She passed away in March after fighting M.S. for ~30 years. Our house is not wheelchair accessible so, for years, we met at a restaurant for brunch. This year, I cooked brunch for the 3 of us. It was both cozy and lonesome, as we all missed her in our own way.
We discussed our boys; how our oldest has grown as a father. It was him, the big kid, who instilled the magic, who encouraged their 5-year-old to watch the sky for red noses. We proudly watched him cuddle his baby girl and help her open her presents. We spoke of how our youngest son had to work on Christmas morning and how it seemed like 5 minutes ago that he was the one waiting up for Santa.
Years pass.
Things change.
Children grow.
Parents die.
Traditions are adjusted, new memories are created.
What remains?
Love.
Love lives on.
