A Letter to December
Dear December,
You are supposed to be the quietest month, yet you’re the loudest. Shortening my days in an attempt to see what I can accomplish in what seems to feel like 5 hours of daylight. Greatly assessing my patience and, more importantly, my Christmas spirit every year. A month of reevaluating the year behind and budgeting both my money and energy.
A month that tests my composure with out-of-towners, shopping crowds, and horrible drivers making those festive drinks begin to feel a bit more necessary. But all eased once the Christmas glow lines the drive home, and the holiday cheer begins to take hold.
You bring small joys, offering comfort in an attempt to distract us from all the nonsense the season brings. Long hours in the kitchen, hands permanently crusted with flour, all of which are worth it when you see others enjoying your work. Last-minute gift shopping in hope of seeing our favorites smile, late-night arrivals, and long hours, all forgotten when you see the house lit up, and a warm, soft air awaits you inside.
December forever reminding us of our favorite memories.
The nostalgia of school during the holidays. When we are reminded of those weeks in grade-school that felt like an eternity, knowing winter break was just around the corner. The entirety of the month focusing more on school activities than on our actual education. Remembering the popcorn garlands and the paper-link countdown chains. Your school bag quickly filled with the photo frames made from popsicle sticks, the cotton ball snowmen that would fall apart on the bus ride home, clay ornaments, and construction paper wreaths. All of which were ready to be placed around the house that our mothers had so carefully decorated.
Remembering classrooms and halls lined with brightly colored lights, gathering around a rug with our classmates watching Polar Express, while our teacher graded papers peacefully in the back. Each day, impatiently waiting for that bell to ring so we could flood the bus in a hurry home, knowing Santa would be coming soon.
And never to forget (this is for you, McKenna) the field behind your best friend’s house, frozen over from heavy rain, screaming for us to skate across, not in skates, but in socks. Staying up late watching the snow fall, flipping through magazines with a sharpie in hand, circling items we’d hope would soon be waiting for us under our glimmering trees.
Now overwhelmed with chaos, shoes piled high, weeks overscheduled, we are desperately holding onto these memories in the hope of feeling a sliver of what once was an effortless magic.
So, thank you, December. For capturing these moments, fleeting and short. They have helped guide us through and remind us of the gentle character you can be.
And when you leave, taking the glow with you, we will carry those feelings away. In tired evenings, in messy kitchens, in laughter down the hallways. We will remember that once, and maybe still, this season knew how to hold us.
Merry Christmas
When We All Believe (Santa Claus and children illustration from the December 2, 1903 issue of Puck), by Rose Cecil O’Neill (1874–1944), chromolithograph, 1903. Public domain; image via Wikimedia Commons and the U.S. Library of Congress.
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