The Christmas Spirit

Holidays after Nicolina

I told my therapist on Monday that I began to cry while meditating last week because I saw this flash of my mom and I talking over coffee in our small kitchen with her saying ‘I just want to see you happy.’ This is something she said to me often. I said to my therapist that I was taken by surprise when I started crying. ‘Well, it is the holidays.’ Ah, yes, the holidays. In the chaos of my job, finals, and life, I forgot that Christmas is soon approaching. My therapist’s reminder has sat with me all week.

Christmas was Nicolina’s time to shine. My beautiful Libra sun, Taurus moon, Scorpio rising mother LOVED Christmas. The day after Thanksgiving she would excitedly turn our living room, our apartment, into Nicolina’s Winter Wonderland (that’s what my dad and I called it). She’d sing along to the Christmas music playing while arranging her fake snow, festive figurines, and tchotchkes. Our home turned into a warm glowing nest until January 6th (we never dared to suggest she take the decorations down before l’Epifania). Without fail, when I returned home from school during these times, a candle that smelled like pine or cinnamon would be burning and Christmas music blaring from our stereo. Her bright, big smile would greet me, ‘ciao, bella!’ as she wrote out Christmas cards to over 200 people (not an exaggeration) all with personal notes of well wishes. We had TWO whole weekends dedicated to Christmas baking because there wasn’t a relative or a friend that didn’t go without her butter cookies and struffoli. Even the priests from our church were blessed with her confections.

It wasn’t until after Nicolina died that I realised what I loved about this time of year was how she made it feel so magical. Her warmth permeated throughout the season. Nicolina’s love languages were cooking, affection, hugs, and acts of service. It made sense that the holiday season was when she thrived. Nicolina was the Christmas Spirit.

I didn’t spend the last Christmas she had with her. Something I still feel guilty about. In 2019, I decided to spend Christmas in Rome, by myself. I was on my first MSc in Scotland, and it was cheaper for me to spend a few days in Rome over Christmas than fly directly home. I had a lovely time. I arrived in New Jersey a few days later. On my journey from JFK to our house, I was excited to see Nicolina’s Winter Wonderland. When I walked up the stairs and opened the door, there was no Christmas music playing, no Winter Wonderland, no tree. ‘What happened?!’ I said panicked as I gestured to our plain living room. ‘You weren’t here.’ Nicolina said lowly. My heart shattered. It still shatters remembering her face while she gave me her explanation.

Nicolina’s magic was all for me. I always thought it was directly related to Christmas, but it was me. I realise now, almost three years after her death, that her love that she gave so freely and intensely was fuelled by her love for me. I still wonder what I did to be so lucky to be loved by Nicolina. To be the only person able to call her mamma. To be loved so fully that it felt magical, ethereal, divine. How lucky am I?

All Nicolina wanted was for me to be happy, to fall in love, to have people to give my magic to. She would fantasise about me getting married and having kids (mostly because I was convinced that I’d die alone). She said she wanted to live with me and my hypothetical husband and children so she can essentially be a live-in nanny. Knowing how that worked out for me and my multigenerational upbringing, I said I would buy her the house next to us as a compromise. She dreamt for the both of us while I was trying to figure out what I was doing with my life. She reminded me that I was indeed worthy of this kind of happiness, this kind of love. Since her death, I’ve slowly become more and more loving. More and more like Nicolina. Something I was scared to become. I saw her vulnerability, her ability to love, her softness as weakness. Oh, how incredibly wrong I was. She would laugh to know that a commercial can make me cry now. My softness, my love, my vulnerability has led me to happiness. They continue to lead me to happiness.

I haven’t exactly figured out how to make Christmas feel as magical as Nicolina made it. Her absence and presence are felt simultaneously. I find myself talking about her often in these last few weeks. Amidst the chaos, I attempted a few Christmas decorations. It’s not a Winter Wonderland. Not exactly the same warm glow, but there is warmth. This year I chose to stay in Scotland. I was with my family for the first time since Nicolina’s death last year and the grief and sadness hung in the air. It was overwhelming. This year I’ll try something different and try out my own traditions. There are new people in my life that I know she’d absolutely adore. I love them with her in mind, as a way for them to know her through me. Somewhere, I’d like to think she’s saying, ‘my bella, I’m so happy that you’re happy!’