How We Found Holiday Magic In Another Christmas, Disrupted

NORTH FORK, NY — Growing up, my mother lived for Christmas. Literally. She may not have had much, but she spent months of the year buying presents on a limited budget, wrapping them excitedly, hiding them in the closet, and then piling them up around the tree.

My mother also loved Christmas trees. So much so that when she died, at just 53, in the heat of a deceptively blue August day, her friends brought a perfect little Christmas tree, with lights and decorations, to her funeral.

She would have loved that.

Losing her when my own son was just a year old, I was determined to create that same Christmas magic for my own child, to give him all the years of tradition and countless Christmas Eves, celebrated in the Norwegian way, with krumkake — delicate rolled Christmas cookies — my grandmother's turkey and my mother's favorite sausage stuffing, and with always, so much love.

We've had some beautiful trees over the years, carefully decorated with ornaments that go back as far as my great-grandmother, and then, made by my son's tiny elementary school hands, and collected on every vacation, every stop we've ever made.

On the last Christmas that my son was home, on our annual and beloved visit to the Christmas shop, he bought me a painted wooden sign that said, "I'll be home for Christmas." His pledge that no matter where time or distance left us during the year, on that one precious night, we'd be together, always, making krumkake, opening gifts, and just being together.

And then came the pandemic.

Because my son, like so many, has a underlying condition, the coronavirus brought all our plans to a halt last year. No trip home — and a swamped postal service meant that his gifts arrived weeks later than planned.

But this year, we said, this year would be different. For months, we talked about his trip home for Christmas. The people we'd see, family and friends we love who have new babies and engagements to celebrate over shared meals, heaping with abundance and love.

One thing we'd learned from the pandemic was the importance of cherishing every moment, of seizing every proverbial day.

Last month, the news broke about a new variant, omicron, set to hit this country with force. We didn't know then that omicron would lead to canceled flights, a spike in new cases— yet another Christmas disrupted.

Our plans changed daily during the weeks since I saw that first article about omicron. Yes, he was still coming home, would use the ticket we'd dreamt of for so long, board the plane, and ready himself for a joyful reunion here on the North Fork with our friends and family pets. Maybe there'd even be snow.

Then for about a week, there were the calls, filled daily with a creeping sense of uncertainty. He didn't feel safe, boarding that plane — and as his mother, how could I advise him to do anything that might put him at risk? Yes, we are vaccinated and boosted but with a comorbidity, my son has to be careful, cautious. Not a weight a twentysomething should have to bear, but a reality, plain and simple.

Should I mail the gifts? I went so far as to pack them in a box and bring them to the post office, the first time, then the thinking shifted — maybe I could go to him.

Always looking for Plan B, I jumped into action. Okay, I said, I'll come there. After literal hours on hold with the airline, I was able to change the ticket. I'd be bringing Christmas to him. I filled the suitcase with his gifts, even went to his favorite pizza place, freezing and packing a few slices in my carry-on to bring a taste of home across the miles.

I got as far as Ronkonkoma. Then we read that hundreds of flights were being canceled. I got a text from a friend that her holiday plans were derailed. Two family members had COVID, she said. In that same few hours, another one of our closest friends called; she'd also tested positive.

Was it too risky? my son asked. Should we just cancel Christmas?

I started crying in that Ronkonkoma parking lot. The suitcase was on the pavement — I was so close, so close to getting on that plane.

But in the end, we both knew the answer. Yes, this variant appears to present with less severe symptoms. And yet. If something, anything ever happened to my son, and it was my fault, I could never live with that anguish.

So I packed up the car again, turned around, and came back. Rushed to the post office on Christmas Eve right before closing time to get the gifts off in the mail. Got into my flannel pajamas and got ready for another long holiday alone. I decided not to put up the tree, standing in my driveway. It's just too sad, I thought, to do it alone. Setting out my snow globe collection — another tradition born with my mother — was the best I could muster.

And then came the night of Christmas Eve. My son texted me, saying that the latest Disney movie, Encanto, had just been released on Disney Plus. He and I, we both love Disney, it's a shared tradition to always watch the new releases together.

Suddenly, there was a little bit of something wonderful to share.

We went back to our old, pandemic tradition, and put the movie on at the exact same time, he in California and I, on the North Fork, texting all the way through. Watching Encanto — a film all about realizing that it's not a perception of perfection that's important, it's family, beautifully imperfect family, that means everything — I came to a realization.

Yes, our Christmas this year might not be the picture perfect dream holiday we'd hoped to achieve — it was messy and complicated, frustrating, lonely and yes, downright sad. But in the end, we'd found that even across the miles, we could connect, create a new tradition. We were able to find Christmas, because in the end, all that really matters is the love.

These past two years have been so hard, for so many. The losses we've faced have been unthinkable. So many families faced with forever empty chairs, and that grief, it's a heavy cloak that's covered us all.

And while the holidays, the tried and true traditions our parents and grandparents imbued in us, used to be taken for granted, as comfortable and reliable as warm, cozy Chrismas pajamas — now, nothing is certain.

Maybe that's why, watching that movie across the miles with my son last night, it was even more special. Because in all the days and months we've lost, spent alone during this pandemic, we've learned to appreciate the magical times with the ones we love that much more.

Despite the long road it took to get there, my son and I, we found our Christmas. Today we'll FaceTime again and make the krumkake together across the miles.

If the holidays are canceled or off kilter this year, most of all, be kind to yourself. Prepare whatever foods bring comfort. Decorate, or don't. If watching a movie and ordering takeout is all you can muster, well then, sometimes, that's enough. It's in finding the magic, in our own ways, with our families, that the memories are made.

As for me, I think I'll finally put up my Christmas tree. Because my mother wouldn't have had it any other way — and as her daughter, and my son's mother, it's in the little things that we find our way forward. And no matter the miles that separate, it's in the deep and abiding bonds we share with the ones we love that the true spirit of Christmas is found.