Dear Mitch,
You loved the original Grinch movie from 1969.
I can still hear you singing every word of “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch,” grinning as you sang the funnier verses. I used to call you the Grinch during the holidays, half in exasperation and half in love. I adored Christmas—the lights, the decorations, the magic of it all.
But for you,
working in the grocery business meant the season was exhausting. The stretch between Thanksgiving and Christmas left you too worn out to fully enjoy the festivities. I understood, but I always wished it could have been different for you—that the stress didn’t overshadow the joy.
This year, as I watched The Grinch again,
the scene about the heart growing three sizes caught my attention. It reminded me of my deep grief after your death, especially during that first Christmas without you. Everything felt empty. The holiday magic was gone. I didn’t decorate or try to feel festive. It was as if a heavy, foggy lens separated me from the world—I could see my family, but I wasn’t really there. I know you’d understand what I mean.
The second Christmas was a little better.
I felt more present, even though I still couldn’t bring myself to decorate. Having Colson around helped. Watching him begin to delight in unwrapping gifts brought a small spark of joy back into my heart. Children truly are the spirit of Christmas, aren’t they?
It wasn’t until the third Christmas
without you that my heart felt like it had grown three sizes, just like the Grinch. For the first time, I fully embraced the season again. Zach and I worked together to decorate the house, doing the best we could with what was accessible since his things were in front of the cupboards holding most of the decorations.
Even so, the house looked festive, and it felt good.
I had all the gifts purchased by Thanksgiving weekend and wrapped by the first weekend of December, just like I used to do. I didn’t send out cards this year, but I think that’s okay. The steps I did take felt monumental, and I’m proud of them.
Decorating with Zach brought back memories of past Christmases.
We reminisced about you and the kids decorating the tree while I carefully arranged the ribbon. We laughed about your love for The Grinch and smiled as we shared stories of holiday moments with you. For the first time, there were no tears—just warmth and gratitude for the memories.
Of course, watching Colson this year was the highlight.
That little boy has all of us wrapped around his tiny finger. I see you in him so clearly. When he opened his gifts, he didn’t rush to the next one. Instead, he ignored the others entirely, fully immersed in each present, savoring the joy it brought him. He didn’t care about how many gifts he received—he was simply grateful for what was thoughtfully chosen for him. Just like you always were.
This Christmas,
I felt something I hadn’t in a long time: peace and joy. The memories of you no longer feel like an ache—they feel like a gift. Christmas will forever live on in our hearts, a blend of happiness from times present and past.
