Preparing for Christmas

At my house, my husband and I each have jobs we do, but when it comes to Christmas, it's mostly mine. I start making jams and jellies in June, I start crocheting in August, and most of the gifts we give our friends are made by me. I write out the Christmas cards, I decorate the tree and house, I bake.
I'm not the decorator my sister was. She had a Dickens village that took up half the dining room, and a collection of Father Christmas figures that took up most of the rest of the house. Her Christmas tree took up half the living room. Things sparkled and whirred and chimed and bellowed, "Merry Christmas!"
Maybe it was because she was born the day after Christmas, but this was her time of year. She cooked for 30 people on Thanksgiving and again on Christmas, then hosted the family Christmas party in January.
Last year was our first holiday season without her. The night before Thanksgiving, we always talked about what we were cooking at the moment -- pies, cranberry bread, cookies ... how many people we were cooking for -- she always cooked for more people than I did.
I came home from work the night before Thanksgiving last year and found the evening empty. I cooked and baked, but I cried as I did it.
Throughout the season, I did things to honor her. I bought a 12-inch-tall Father Christmas and an ornament with a snowman on a sled with her name on it. It was a hard holiday season because all my life, so much of it had been about Ellen.
I've written a lot of articles about how to face the holidays after the death of a loved one. It was hard the first couple of years after my father died. He pretended not to like Christmas, but he really loved it, despite the "Bah, Humbug!" every Chritmas shopping trip he was forced to endure.
He was the master of the family Christmas party, holding court in his chair at the head of the dining room table, dressed in a red courdory shirt and chinos.
We never thought Christmas would be the same when he died, and it wasn't. But it was good again. Ellen took over the family party and we moved it to January, and she held court in the kitchen, next to her spinach and artichoke dip.
Last year, we had the family winter party at Robbo's house in New Hampshire and my mother got to hold Ellen's new grandson, Liam.
Things do change when somebody you love dies, but the holidays still have meaning. Ellen always gathered her family close during this season. Our kids still laugh about the parties and remember the wrestling matches on Ellen's living room floor.
This year, the season is less painful, although so many things still remind me of her. This year, though, I can smile.