Where Are You, Christmas?

“Where Are You, Christmas?” is a song written by James Horner, Mariah Carey and Wilbur Jennings. The video is a visual palate of awe-inspiring scenery, reminding me of my beautiful Colorado, and Faith Hill’s voice is smooth and rich, so these things together bind my heart and make my eyes tear up almost every single time I hear the song.

Tonight I made a couple of pies, the kind my daughter likes, even though she doesn’t live here anymore. Maybe part of the reason I made them was to put a piece of her spirit here. The pumpkin filled my senses, and combine that with my odd, but beautiful, Christmas tree with its lights twinkling and Christmas music filling my home, that alone was enough to bring tears to my eyes. It was bittersweet, because it was just me, drinking in the moment of time, space, and memories. Then came this song, and all sorts of things came swimming into my heart.

We all know what Christmas means, mostly, to us. Deep down, we all have the knowledge of what it represents. But Christmas means other things. At least, it does to me. And as life keeps advancing forward at a pace I’m not certain I can always keep a beat with, memories come flooding back to me when Christmases past seemed new and bright and life was in front of me, and I couldn’t wait to share it with my mom and dad.

“Where are you, Christmas? Why can’t I find you? Why have you gone away? Where is the laughter you used to bring me, why can’t I hear the music play?”

Christmas time was spending cold, winter nights at my grandmother’s house in Colorado, when the snow was deep and with every footstep, the snow crunched. I’d slip into my dad’s boots and walk across the back yard to the edge of where the yard met pasture, and listen to my own footsteps chew into the snow. The pond looked gigantic to me then, and when the moon shone bright it illuminated a world I had never seen shine so vast and bright. Once, my cousins and I went ice-skating on the pond. Once, I saw a red fox standing near its edge, when the snow was thin but strong. Christmas was Colorado, and all of its coldness wrapped up beneath the stars was my entire world.

I found Christmas in watching my grandmother make carrot cookies. The laughter was in my heart, because I was there with her, my most favorite place in the world. The music was a feeling of love and perfect trust.

“My world is changing, I’m rearranging, does that mean Christmas changes, too?”

Change is inevitable. It’s a part of life. And good or bad, I’m terrible at change…but I’m learning, and I’m trying.

There’s a Chinese proverb that says, “When the winds of change blow, some people build walls and others build windmills.”

Yes, my world is changing. My childhood days in Colorado’s winters turned to a few good years in my teenage years where I spent my summers reading books in trees and spending time with my cousin on dusty roads. Then my world changed again and two babies were born. And everyone knows that Christmas and children can be as magical as anything, and Christmas takes yet a new meaning when we see our toddlers smiling beneath Christmas lights. Nothing is perfect, but in the imperfection of life, my children made me believe in Santa Claus all over again, and the jolly man would go round and round the outside of the house on Christmas Eve, ringing bells that Rudolph wears, clinking and clanking, and joy was contagious.

“Where are you, Christmas? Do you remember the one you used to know? I’m not the same one…See what the time’s done…Is that why you have let me go?”

The bittersweet time I spent in Germany for a short while was magical. Perhaps, a little too magical. Neuschwanstein Castle is as idyllic as it looks, and to see a light dusting of snow frosted on its walls and windows, to see winter-red birds cluster together, gives the Christmas season a new meaning. German castles in the dead of winter bring longing to the spirit and a hope I thought was lost. Hope was suddenly found. I had everything good in front of me once more.

Somewhere along the way, did Christmas let me go?

“Christmas is here, everywhere. Christmas is here, if you care.”

The German streets really are made of cobblestone, and Christmas shops are entwined and laced together like vines in a forest. The Black Forest cuckoo clocks are as rich in sound as they are charming to the eye. Add a chill to the air, hot chocolate between cold hands, and stars falling down on old towns one only thought existed in story books, and the brew is intoxicating. Overwhelming. This is Christmas, the heart says. This is what it’s all about.

“Oh, I feel you Christmas…I know I’ve found you.”

Fast-forward a number of years. We marry, we move, we venture back to where we left. Children grow older, parents grow older. In the blink of an eye, as one might say, everything changes. You can’t even pinpoint when or how it happens, but it does. My mother no longer picks my children up from the day care down the road, because I was in school and unable to get away. Now, I go see my mom and I’m taking care of her. My dad will never get into his little white VW bug and pick my four year-old up from a birthday party in late December, ever again. He’ll never call me on the phone and tell me that he’ll take care of her, and for me not to worry. His little Bug always got through every snow storm, especially up in the Colorado mountains, so a little storm here is nothing.

God, I hate change.

And when I say I hate change I mean: God, I love you. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. But I hate change.