1984-Present

I used to believe in the magic of Christmas.

Now it's just another day off work.

I used to enjoy the hustle and bustle of the holiday. I used to love being around people and seeing little kids dressed all fancy for their pictures with Santa. I'd look forward to feeling that there was warmth in the air even when the temperature was freezing. I forgot that I was fat and ate every tiny little morsel that was colored red or green and covered in frosting.

Now I watch people, especially shoppers in my store and look out for potential shoplifters.  When I see little kids, I wonder if someone has already told them that Santa isn't real. I wear a scarf, a nice warm coat and still I feel cold. There is no warmth. I remember I'm fat and I eat every tiny little morsel that's colored red or green and covered in frosting.

What was it that killed it for me?

I don't know.

I've been asked by several people. It would be easy to say it was because Mom wasn't here. Or that Grandma wasn't here or that I was without a man in my life. But it's not any of those things. Mom and Grandma haven't been here before-I've been alone before. I actually like who I am and how things are going so it's not even a bout of self loathing. I just....am over it.

Working retail during the holidays is hard and I've heard people say that before. I didn't really know what it meant but this was my 4th time around and I get it now. It's different for everyone-the holidays. Not just how they celebrate but how people are affected. Some love it-it's their favorite holiday. Some hate it and they'll be Grinch-y any chance they get and to anyone. Some are inconvenienced with closed shops and no mail delivery. Some start with Black Friday, still digesting turkey.

Christmas has held a bit of darkness over my family since I was a child. My grandfather died on Christmas Eve from brain cancer in 1984. I was still pretty young, only 4.

The phone rang while we were opening presents. Next thing I know we're in the car on our way to grandma's house, just like the little song. But no one was singing. It was very quiet and my dad was driving very fast.

When we got there, men in fireman's uniforms were milling about. There was an ambulance in the front yard, it's red light spinning, siren silent. We walked up the sidewalk behind two men with a stretcher.

My grandfather had been sick for a long time. He had a hospital bed in the living room and it was there as it had been for as long as I could remember. This time his smiling face was not at the end of the white sheet. It went all the way over his eyes, outlining his shape.

I remember asking my grandmother if I could see him and the look on her face when I did. A mix of horror and fascination and pride-she told me years later she'd been in awe of my childlike curiosity.  For that's all it was. For some reason I had to look under that sheet. But they didn't let me. Instead my mother cried with her and I was ignored for the moment.

My grandparent's house had many rooms. My favorite room was a tiny alcove off the kitchen. A window of blue and red stained glass used to paint colored shadows on the hardwood. There was a bird feeder just outside the window and grandma used to let me smear peanut butter and seeds on the ledge to attract finches.  It was at this window where my grandmother found me.

She asked me if I knew what had happened and I said I did. She asked me if I knew where grandpa had gone and I said, 'Heaven', like I was supposed to. I didn't really know what 'Heaven' meant except that it wasn't here anymore. The house already felt different without grandpa in it.

I remember watching the firemen from the staircase in the hall. They walked about the house, their boots stomping like cannons. They seemed so huge to me-like giants and I was scared of them more that the body under the sheet in the living room.

I remember telling my grandmother that she would love again someday.  I remember having nightmares for years after that night about giants in white doctor jackets chasing me through big empty houses. I remember that every Christmas Eve my mom looked a little sadder.

But I remember falling back in love with Christmas. I remember being told stories of Santa and his Elves and looking forward to seeing Rudolph on TV. I remember getting my picture taken at Frederick and Nelsen's- back when there was such a department store. I remember going to see the Nutcracker for the first time with my best girlfriends and starting a tradition.  I remember taking turns picking out a tree with mom and dad-rotating every year but never really remembering whose turn it was. I remember the joy and the magic of possibilities, of wishes coming true.

But not this year.

I didn't have warm fuzzy feelings. I didn't have scary dreams or sad feelings about a loved one that's no longer here either. I just worked. I worked every day leading up to Christmas and the day after it. If I felt myself getting Grinch-y, I took a moment to readjust my Retail Face-to be happy and positive for my staff.

On Christmas Eve I gave a woman with lung cancer an angel snow globe. I held the hand of the woman's son and let him cry before we rode in the car home-pointing out brightly lit houses to avoid the sad silence. My dad and uncle came over Christmas Day and we watched Blue Planet because there was no football on. I showed my dad how to use his phone and ate entirely too much chocolate. I slept and caught up on the first season of Game of Thrones.

It wasn't until today that I felt a little sad about it.

Talking with a friend or answering a customer's polite query about how my holiday was-the answer is always the same. "Nice, thank you. Quiet. And yours?"