Or rather, my friends and family were good to me, so so good to me. Either way, it's magic.
All my mail gets sent to school and then the receptionist emails me to let me know I have mail.* I knew that my momma had sent me a package and I knew that at least one friend had popped something in the mail, but I was not expecting the pile that I gleefully picked up today.
I know Christmas is not about stuff. I promise, I know that. But carrying a pile of mail back to my apartment, getting comfortable on my couch, and opening cards and gifts from friends and family made me really happy today. I don't think it's because I now own more things, but because it was a tangible way to see that I was thought of this holiday season.
As I read the words written inside glittery Christmas cards, I could hear the voices of the people I love. I could see them smiling at me, see the way their mouths moves when they talk, the way their noses scrunch or twitch, the way their eyes focus or wander.
As I opened my mom's gifts, it felt like every other Christmas we have spent together. I didn't realize how much a new calendar, underwear, and pyjama pants mean to me. They mean tradition and new beginnings and love.
As I sit here right now, wearing the pyjama pants my momma picked out for me and the cowl she knit for me, I feel like I'm home.
Merry Christmas!
*I never went to summer camp when I was a kid, but I've always had this romanticized idea of a camp counsellor coming into a cabin, holding a stack of envelopes, yelling "Mail call!" I just realized, the subject line "mail at reception" is my own grown-up version. Even without bunk beds and campfires, "Mail call!" is pretty happy.
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