Yuletide Greetings and Nostalgic Feelings
With the Christmas season upon us, I wanted to share a piece I wrote around this time last year. The holidays are meant to be filled with peace and joy, but if you find yourself in a season of discomfort and discontent, I hope you remember that these feelings are okay, too.
There is room to feel sadness and express joy. There is room to feel peace and chaos in this current state of mind.
And, there is always room to let these feelings coexist with one another and still find it in your heart to feel the Christmas spirit. This post originally appeared on SMA News Today.
In the midst of all the hustle and bustle that is the holiday season, I sometimes feel an overwhelming wave of nostalgia engulf me. To an extent, I imagine we all feel this way during this time of year.
December sings a song of good tidings and dances along to her twinkling lights and Yuletide greetings that bring peace and contentment into the world. But beneath the surface, she leaves her trace of nostalgia. And as I unpacked my Christmas boxes with my mother today, I couldn’t fight the feeling of longing for the things that used to be.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m a huge fan of Christmas. Some may even argue that I’m too obsessed with this time of year, but with Bing Crosby belting out the Christmas classics in my ears, I have a hard time listening to the haters. Give me a peppermint mocha, some tunes, and a fresh blanket of snow, and you’ll find me getting giddy in the Christmas aisles of Target, caroling way out of tune, and being completely ignorant to the fact that snow and wheelchairs aren’t the best mix. I just want a white Christmas, OK?
Yet, through the merriment that is the holiday season, that flood of nostalgia always envelopes me as we haul out boxes upon boxes of Christmas decor. In these boxes, carefully wrapped are memories of my childhood. As a young girl, I had much more physical strength than I do today. Hung on one of our Christmas trees (my family has three!) are ornaments that I painted or constructed myself. On a bureau in my bedroom is a Nativity scene that I painted on my own in middle school.
Green split peas glued onto paper in the shape of trees remind me of craft wars my brother and I used to have as kids. (Mine were always better.) Each year, these memories flood back to me. And while this is something I try not to dwell on, as it can really mess with my emotional well-being, I can’t help but itch for those days again.
This reality of living with SMA, the reality that this disease is degenerative, has always been the hardest for me to grasp. At the same time, I look back at these memories in the shapes of handmade ornaments, paper trees, and painted, wooden reindeers, and I feel grateful. Even if it was short-lived, I have these tangible experiences to showcase how well-spent my holidays were.
My mother, who has always had a knack for crafts, filled this time of year with the utmost Christmas spirit through art and helped in developing my creative side, which I still exercise today through digital art.
There’s a ceramic Santa ornament I painted at age 11, and every year I admire all of its intricacies. Every little detail is painted on so perfectly that you’d never guess me and my shaky, SMA hands could have ever painted it. As I look at it, I reflect on what is now a distant memory, but something I will cherish for eternity. SMA may have robbed me of some of my abilities over the years, but it can never take away the love that was cultivated in spite of it.
