This is a guest post by my partner, Dave.
I lost something valuable.
I lost the childhood magic of Christmas. That chilly time of year filled with the warmth of neighbors and relatives, the aroma of freshly baked cookies, a tree glowing with ornaments and wrapped in popcorn chains, colored lights blinking in the windows, a record player crackling out carols that everyone knew by heart. And the presents — that pile of boxes, each a colorfully wrapped secret that I studied with delicious anticipation. School was out at last and, on Christmas Eve, I could fall asleep knowing that the next day would be the most magical day of the year.
Over the decades, the tangle of Christmas tree lights gave way to tangles of bills and world news. The anticipation of presents gave way to worries over aging relatives and friends going through rough times. Festivities became grocery lists, travel plans, and the quiet ache of missing loved ones.
Once I was a child waiting for magic to come to me. Now, with a lifetime of experience, I can make my own magic. Every new year, every new day, every hour, I can light a candle in any kind of darkness.
The magic of Christmas wasn’t in the things I thought it was as a child. The magic is in the hope, the connection, the love. Those I can kindle anywhere, anytime, for anyone. The child in me didn’t lose the magic. The adult just grew strong enough to become it.