When the Season Isn’t Easy
December is supposed to feel “merry and bright,” or at least that’s what the holiday songs insist as they play from every speaker in every store.
But this year… it hasn’t felt super bright for me. It has felt tender. Heavy. A honestly, quite sad.
We’ve had a lot of grief in our house. We lost our 18-year-old kitty, Cali over Thanksgiving. In addition my grandma went on hospice for a few short weeks before passing peacefully last weekend with my mom by her side at the Henry Ford Hospice House.
If you’ve been coming to The Village Collective meetups, you’ve seen her.
She was at nearly every one. Jackson First United Methodist Church was her church for seventy years. It’s the building I was raised in, and because of her, it holds a deep familiarity for me. She loved that we were filling it with kids again - laughing, running, playing, shyly peeking around corners, crying when they needed to. She didn’t care what state they were in; she just loved children.
She always wore the kid-friendly sweatshirts - Peanuts, Disney - because she wanted children to see her and feel safe. She adopted four kids after being unable to have biological children, and from that came our large, loud, messy, beautiful family of grandkids and great-grandkids. And beyond that? She fostered sixty-five children under the age of five over nearly fifteen years. It’s who she was: she loved and cared for kids because she believed they deserved to be cared for. Full stop.
She couldn’t make it to the last two meetups. She was becoming weaker, and none of us knew that cancer was quietly taking her life. She was strong my entire life - her entire life - so watching that strength fade surprised all of us.
But even in those last months, she kept asking about The Village Collective. She was proud of the work we’re doing - showing up for moms, for families, for kids. Making space in the church for community rather than obligation. That mattered to her.
Honestly, I’m grateful we don’t have a December meetup. This month is emotional for my family, and having a pause feels like a small mercy.
I share all this because I know I’m not the only one carrying something heavy right now.
Your “heavy” might look different. Maybe you’ve had a recent loss. Maybe you’re choosing between groceries and gifts. Maybe you’re running on fumes trying to get to concerts, recitals, school events, work gatherings, and somehow still remember where you hid the stocking stuffers. Maybe you’re shopping at the Priceless Gift Store or signing up for Angel Tree because you are doing whatever it takes to make the holidays happen for your kids.
Maybe you’re just trying to find ten quiet minutes to breathe - or cry - by the Christmas tree after everyone else has gone to bed.
Whatever your version is, I see you. You’re not alone.
And if you happen to be in a season of joy and light, I truly hope it wraps around you and stays. Enjoy the cocoa, the music, the twinkle of the tree, the traditions that your family loves. Savor it.
But if this month feels complicated - and for many of us, it does - please know that your Village is here. Reach out if you need something. We will do our best to support you, connect you, or point you toward someone who can. This is what a village is for - not perfection, not performance, just presence.
