By: Bridget Mooney

​

Something you should know,   

is that as a little girl, Christmas was my favorite holiday.

I would await its arrival starting in January, counting down the months until

I would once again smell pine needles and freshly baked gingerbread,

our gingerbread houses being noteworthy as they were made from scratch with

airy light powdered sugar on top to replicate the snow we never got to see in California. 

I associated all these wonderful joys with Christmas, especially seeing all of my

family gathered together in one place. A pretty rare occurrence.

But as I grew older, I started to depend on Christmas as a source of happiness

because of all the amazing memories that I had infused with it,

I even listened to Christmas music year-round 

to get me through the year,

as if the pressure of expectations, relationships, and responsibilities

would suddenly fall away

if I could merely hold on to Christmas a little longer.

And when my coveted holiday finally did arrive;

I could no longer feel the same delight I had as a little girl

since I knew life would continue to swallow me whole 

once the holiday season was over.