The wrapping paper is tucked neatly in the recycling bin. The cookies grow stale, their once smooth, red-and-green icing chipping away. The tree, a fire hazard now, has stopped taking its water, though it still emits the faintest fir scent.
It was all magical, sure, but there's a stillness and a sadness that comes in the days after Christmas. That comes with being in this middle place in life.
My daughter Jane, my little only, is four years old this year. A realist, she is already skeptical of the whole Santa bit. My gut tells me that I won't be able to fool her for very long. I know that this time with her is so fleeting, and that makes me sad. When I was her age, or a little older, I thought nothing in the world could be better than getting a visit from Santa. Now I realize that playing Santa is far more joyful. In these days after Christmas, as she plays so happily with her dolly, taking it on walks in her new baby stroller, burping it over her shoulder, drying its tears, I tell myself, "Do not forget this. This time next year, she will be a different little person. By the next time you hang these ornaments, she will have changed in ways you can't even anticipate now. So take this in."
Thinking about how fast my child changes is not the only thing that makes these days after Christmas feel so blue. It's also seeing how the various family Christmases in my life have changed this year, who is new to my world and who is missing.
Being this age, I can no longer walk in and experience the magic of having an older generation do everything for me. I have responsibilities. Maybe I need to cook a dish or two. Host a party. Buy the gifts for everyone (don't forget the mailman and Jane's bus driver!). The "Christmas Crackers" are no longer at Mimi's celebration because that tradition has passed as she nears the end of life. I walk into Maw Maw's home; it now belongs to my parents. Maw Maw has been gone for years now, but every Christmas I long for her turkey and dressing, the stockings that held tiny toys and games, her bustle as she bends to take rolls out of her old General Electric stove. Where is she? I still wonder. Time is so strange to me.
This middle place fills me with such tremendous joy at times, but damn, it can be so sad too. Because the longings of childhood echo far into our adult lives, long after those magical people who played Santa in their own way are gone. All of the sad and sappy Christmas songs resonate with me in a new way now. Maybe it's because I just miss the loved ones who are gone, or who have grown old or changed in ways I didn't know were possible as a little person who couldn't believe her heroes could ever grow frail or die. Maybe it's because I see my little girl growing and changing, in such a quick and constant fashion, and I know there's not going to be another child. Maybe it's because I'm changing too, in ways I didn't even know I could. Growing more empathetic. Understanding in painful and loving ways that this all happens so fast. This lovely life.
So, if you need me, I'll be here -- having a blue (post-) Christmas, patiently awaiting the hopes that only the New Year can offer. Until then, I have some coffee that will go so well with those stale Christmas cookies, and why not leave that tree up one more night, let it shine brightly into 2016.