My Santa has Gone

Dec 21, 2025

The light has gone out of the holiday. There is an empty void lurking around the corner, waiting to consume me as I push against its evil clutches.

This is my first Christmas without my mom and it is unimaginably hard, feeling like the joy and magic of the season… the "Santa"… is gone.

Bright brown eyes and glowing blondish red hair, with a smile that radiated my belief in the miracle of Christmas; she was the reason. We sang Christmas carols as the songs blasted from her record player, the smell of something good coming from the kitchen. “Santa comes tonight, Nikki!!” My heart soaring at the feeling of a magical night of joy. I would go to bed so excited, keeping one eye open and my ears sharp for that jolly old elf. No matter how vigilant I was, Santa always won. He would leave signs all over the house proving he was there. Our tree exploding with gifts and my mom…. As happy as she has ever been.

Santa was the spirit of love, magic, and giving. My mom embodied that for me. While the physical presence of that love is gone and the pain is brutal, the love itself, the love she gave me, the love I have for her, has not vanished. It is still part of me and I have passed that magic on to my children.

This year, maybe "Santa" isn't in the decorations or the presents. Maybe "Santa" is simply the act of being kind to myself and allowing myself to grieve. Leaning into the memory of her love, which is a gift that never truly leaves.

This first Christmas without my Santa I will remember I don't have to be merry. I will allow myself tears, even if it means crying through dinner. I give myself radical permission to do (or not do) whatever feels remotely survivable.

The absence is loudest, so I will make space for her. I will share fond memories with my children and hold them tight, making sure to pass on her magic as I am their Santa.

For you momma, an ode to my Santa:

The first snow falls, and you are not here.

The ornaments decorating the tree; The cookie tin is empty.

The world sings a song I cannot hum.

They say he’s making a list, checking it twice, but the only name I listen for is one he cannot call.

Your chair at the table only holds a shadow.

Your laugh, the secret ingredient in every recipe, is quiet now.

As I string the lights, the cord feels cold. The pumpkin pie scent only makes me remember how your hands smelled of cooking, when you tucked me in, when you whispered, “Santa’s on his way.”

This year, the sleigh bells are muffled by distance.

The magic, it seems, only worked when you were here to believe it with me.

I will light a single candle and listen for your echo in the silent night.

I will hold this empty space and call it love, because it is the spirit of you that remains.

And if Santa is gone, it is only because his jolliest elf, my most faithful believer, has gone ahead to show him the way home.