When we were first married (and Sami was in vet school), our Christmases were marked by mutual gifts (like the flannel sheets that turned us both blue the first night we slept in them because we didn't wash them) and homemade presents for our families. We made lots of woodworking gifts in our early years together - Christmas decorations and toy boxes, as I recall. Later, with children of our own, we made the conscious decision to be home on Christmas Day - to watch our girls discover that Santa had eaten the cookies and drank the egg nog they'd left out for him, and find their stockings full.
When we started raising sheep commercially in the early 2000s, we added sheep chores to our tradition. Usually, I'd spend December 23 and/or 24 getting sheep moved to fresh grass so that our Christmas chores (and our chores in the day or two that followed) were minimal. And on Christmas Day, after we'd opened presents and had cinnamon rolls for breakfast, but before we'd opened our stockings, the girls and I would drive out to wherever the sheep were grazing to feed the livestock guardian dogs. Sami, I think, enjoyed the peace and quiet of our short absence!
But in 2023, everything - EVERYTHING - changed. Last December 23, we celebrated Sami's life at the Gold Country Fairgrounds. The girls and I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in Pacific Grove. A very different celebration, for sure - but a needed departure from being at home. A home that was so very different than the one where I'd celebrated Christmas for 32 years.
This year, I'm in a new home. I'm working a new (if familiar) job. I've sold all of the sheep except for 8 feeder lambs. Emma is home from college; I'll travel to New Mexico to see Lara in a few days. I did most of the Christmas decorating by myself. The sharp pain of last year's sense of loss has lessened, to some degree - but I find that I'm unusually exhausted as the days have grown shorter. December 23 snuck up on me. I continue to find that being around people is both helpful and exhausting. I find that I have had a hard time thinking about the gifts I'd like to give my family and friends - even thinking about what to eat on Christmas Day seems like too much work.
My friends and family continue to be incredibly supportive and understanding, for which I'm more thankful than I can express. The shortest text - a simple card - can lift my spirits more than you know. I continue to be humbled by the people who seem to know intuitively when I need someone to check in with me. And who don't expect reciprocation or response.
Tonight, Christmas Eve, I find that I miss the anticipation I shared with Sami. I miss knowing the comfort of knowing that we're all under the same roof. I miss the ritual of preparing a simple hearty meal (for many years, I made Scotch broth on Christmas Eve) in anticipation of a much bigger meal on Christmas Day. Tomorrow, I'll miss the walks we took after an early dinner (and before dessert). I'm so thankful that Emma is here this year. I'm grateful that we got to celebrate at my sister's house yesterday (with my grand-niece and grand-nephews). But Christmas is still different.
Merry Christmas, my friends. Know that I'm grateful.
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