Once upon a time Christmas was a season of magic for me. Shopping for goodies for my daughter brought me such joy. We were so connected and in tune that without her even asking or dropping hints, I knew exactly what would excite her and make her dreams come true. Stuffed animals, cartoon videos, dolls, games, treats. As I made my trips around town to purchase the items on my list, my anticipation ran wild just looking forward to how much she would enjoy what I picked out for her. I could almost hear her giggles of happiness and picture those radiant smiles that filled the house to overflowing. However, back in those days, the gifts were not actually from me, but from Santa, the elves, the reindeer, and the snowmen. Christmas was an enchanting time that brought as much delight to me as it did to my daughter. The memories that I hold onto from those days are treasures to me even as they slowly fade away with the passing years.
Yet somewhere along the way, when apparently I wasn't paying attention, my daughter grew up. The bouncy, excitable, glee-filled child was replaced by a young woman. Age and maturity have a way of creeping in and displacing all traces of magic and hope that fanciful, larger-than-life characters will bring you your heart's desire just because you are special. When that occurs, Santa and his team somehow know to pass on by to where the magic and wonder still exist.
For the past few years Christmas has become much more of a burden for me. Something to just get over with and hide away from. Looking around to see how others seem to be having the times of their lives, makes me long for those days before the magic was lost, once upon a time.
