Keep Buying the Ornament

I keep buying the ornament.

Every year, there's a pop-up booth at the mall that sells ornaments, and my mom used to stop at it every year, without fail. She bought us all an ornament every year for Christmas, and they all had the same look to them.

After she died, I continued the tradition of buying the ornament, and I always put it on the tree and say to myself, "to Amanda, love Mom". Continuing to buy the ornament felt like a way to keep her alive.

But I realized something recently... the ornament, or any other of Mom's traditions, weren't actually the magic... Mom was. 

My mom didn't make Christmas special because of what she wore, or what she cooked or baked. She didn't make it special by forgetting the vegetables in the microwave every year (and then laughing about it), or by wearing her cute top with her 'work shorts' because she was so hot, or by making way too much food. She made it magical because she held our family together like glue. She remembered things. She made everyone feel like they belonged, and were heard, and were loved.

Trying to keep Mom alive during the holidays has been hard because her impact feels so intangible. And now that I'm a mom too, I also want to find tangible ways to create opportunity to talk about her. I want Charlee to know her Gramma. Her stories, not just her name... her presence, her love. And the way she made people feel.

So… for now, I'm going to keep buying the ornament. I'm going to keep saying her name. I'm going to keep telling stories about her. And I’m going to keep thinking of ways to bring Mom's spirit into our special day.

If you're grieving someone this Christmas, especially the one who was the magic, I'd love to hear how you keep them close for the holidays.

2025 ornament - To Amanda, Love, Mom