“We all will be together, if the fates allow…”
You know that line? From the classic Christmas song ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas?’ Every time I hear that part it makes stop.
I’ve lived through enough Christmases now to have seen people come and go. Enough to know how easy it is to take for granted the people who we think will return year after year. Our family, friends, the familiar faces we expect to always be there. Until one day, they aren’t.
This time of year always pulls me back to some of the most Childhood memories. I remember my dad staying up all night assembling a Barbie boat for my sister and me. I remember my mum reading us Christmas stories, her long delicate fingers turning the pages so gently. Both of them working behind the scenes to make Christmas feel extra special for us. I still remember the feeling of waiting for Santa. My sister and I shrieking in excitement on Christmas Eve, jumping on our beds, utterly incapable of calming down. Every sound I heard was definitely Santa landing on the roof.
The things I loved most about Christmastime was how effortless joy felt. How my imagination ran wild and made me feel like I could lift up and fly from the joy of it all. How, as a family, we did whatever we could to be close to our family. That often meant flying back home to Vancouver, a place I now call home.
These days, we gather at my aunt’s house every year for Christmas. She’s a 5-minute drive from me now. Her place has become the central meeting point for all big family events. It recently dawned on me that it’s the only house I’ve known my entire life. The house is largely unchanged, almost everything is the same as it was since I was a kid (much to my wonderful aunt’s dismay). But I love it. I love going there. There is so much comfort walking in the door, going up that familiar carpeted staircase and seeing the faces of all these people I’ve known since I was born. The same kitchen, the same tv. It fills my heart with gratitude to share this now with my own children. I feel an immediate sense of calm as soon as I am there. No matter what is happening in the family, we put aside our own issues to focus on making Christmas special. Next year might not be the same, with the same people, and never in the same way.
As I get older, I realise the magic of Christmas is really in the gathering. In the ritual of coming together with people we love for a tradition that has been in existence long before we were born. It’s the comfort of old songs, familiar foods, and simple traditions. It’s in the collective pause to reflect and be kinder than we might normally be. And I know this season can be incredibly painful for those missing someone they love. I know the ache of wishing someone could be here and knowing they can’t anymore. I know the feeling of wanting to fast forward through it all. Grief has a way of amplifying over the holidays. But nowadays I see how grief has become one of my greatest teachers about what truly matters.
I also know how Christmas is often romanticised. Movies tell us it should be picture-perfect. Commercials sell us an idea that if we just buy this or that then so-and-so will know we truly love them. There is so much pressure. But we all know, I think, that it all just really boils down to spending time with the people we love, with all their flaws and imperfections. It’s really the people who make this season meaningful.
It is the time of year that invites us to look around at what has passed and prepare for what’s ahead. It’s one of the only times we do this collectively. There is something sacred about the end of one chapter and the beginning of another, a ritual we all get invited into.
I hope that whoever is reading this feels that too. Christmas doesn’t need to be over the top to be special. I hope instead it’s a pause long enough to notice all that this year has held, and to be mindful about what you hope for next year. Life is always changing, for better and for worse, and Christmas has a way of making that truth impossible to ignore. I hope you too don’t take for granted all that you do have.
May you have a wonderful Christmas, in whatever way feels comforting to you. Whether you want it to fast forward or not, I hope you can look around and remember that nothing is the same as it will ever be.
A new year is around the corner, another is about to pass. I wish you many moments of hope and possibility for all that awaits in 2026.
Art Therapy with Kimberly 
This is deeply tender and beautifully reflective. That opening line from the song is such a quiet ache, and you unpack it with so much care and honesty. It immediately sets the tone for everything that follows: gratitude laced with awareness, joy tempered by time.
Your childhood memories are especially vivid. The image of your dad assembling the Barbie boat through the night and your mum’s fingers turning pages feels intimate and alive, like little heirlooms preserved in words. They remind the reader that the magic we remember was built by love we didn’t fully see at the time. And the way you move from those memories into the present, gathering now with your own children in a house that has stayed almost unchanged, is incredibly grounding. That sense of place, of walking up the same staircase and feeling calm wash over you, carries so much emotional weight.
I also appreciated how openly you acknowledged grief and the pressure of a “perfect” Christmas. Nothing here feels naïve or overly sentimental. Instead, it feels earned. Your reflection that grief becomes a teacher, especially during the holidays, is powerful and generous. It makes space for readers who are hurting without dimming the light for those who are celebrating.
By the end, this reads less like a holiday post and more like a quiet benediction. A reminder to gather, to pause, to notice what is here now because it will not return in the same way. Thank you for sharing something so thoughtful and human. It lingers in the best way.
Hi there, thank you for such a thoughtful and thorough response! It made me so happy to read. I am glad that my writing doesn’t come across too preachy. I have spent many years wanting Christmas over. Now I feel like I can actually enjoy it. Thank you again, merry christmas 🙂