December flew by in a whirl of guests and gift wrap and gingerbread and carols. Our family tradition is to host a simple Christmas Eve dinner and then open gifts with immediate family. Our larger gathering and present exchange happen after Liturgy on Christmas Day.

I was happy to host this Christmas Eve, and even happier my grandfather was able to come, even though he was only a few days post surgery for his melanoma. We had a simple meal of soup and bread and salad, and my heart was so full I failed to get any photos at all. Looking at the people I love seated around my table, the people who fed me and hosted me throughout my life that I was now feeding and hosting, made my soul sing.

Michael loved Christmas: he had so much fun opening presents, but refused to open more than two at a time because he was so excited to play with what he had. So we spread out some of his gifts through a few days (good thing there are twelve days of Christmas!), and saved some for his birthday.

It was so much fun having my siblings home again. Their visit home for Thanksgiving was very brief, but this time we got to spend a week together and it was wonderful. We had many good meals, played games, and watched Christmas movies. Michael especially adored playing chase with Uncle Jon and Aunt Boo.

Because of my grandfather’s surgery, we had Christmas Day at my parents’ this year. It was a smaller, simpler meal than we usual do given all that was going on, but it was delicious all the same. We went to Liturgy (Christ is born! Glorify Him!), and when we got home I foraged greenery for the table and interspersed some dried orange slices with my thrifted candle holders.

We opened presents with the extended family, and set up for dinner as more guests arrived. Bacon-wrapped and rosemary glazed pork loin, green beans with bacon and shallots, crusty homemade bread, spiced wine cranberry sauce: it was a feast. After dinner, we sang carols while cleaning up the dishes and watched the football game and played cards. The busyness of the week was too much for Michael; for the first time in months he fell asleep without a fight, laying on me surrounded by bustle and noise.

Family friends came to stay with us for a few days after Christmas, extending our festivities. More games, more laughter; more delicious food. They left shortly before New Year’s Eve, and Jake and I had a delightfully introverted NYE, ending with us in bed by 9 pm. I still didn’t miss midnight: the neighbors’ fireworks and gunshots made sure of that (welcome to living in the country).

And now, it’s 2024. It’s been a quiet beginning to the year. Michael developed a nasty cold as soon as the holiday busyness was over, so been a rough week: his cough and stuffed sinuses have made sleep difficult for everyone, and there’s not much sadder than a sick baby crying to be “all better”. We’re hunkering down in our cozy cottage, eating soup and tea and hoping no one else gets sick.

In full honesty, I’ve started and stopped, written and erased this post several times, trying to find a way to traditionally recap 2023 in a way that feels genuine. And words just aren’t coming.

December and January always bring waves of memories: nostalgic childhood memories, family traditions, smells or sounds that evoke long forgotten bits of youth, memories of community and people who are both with us and not with us, separated by physical space or by death.

Instead of reflecting on the memories of the past year, I find myself instead thinking about memory itself.

On December 26th, our dear Khouria Sally (my mother’s godmother and the wife of our prior parish priest) passed away. For me, her death looms larger than the past year, and I feel her absence more keenly than the memories of 2023.

She was one of the kindest, strongest, and fiercest women I have ever met. We bonded over a love of music and hymns, specifically Western ones, and after our move to our communal living situation, she always went out of her way to make me feel welcome through the growing pains of attending a new church.

Her funeral was January 2nd, and burial the 3rd. I’m so grateful Michael and I were able to attend the funeral before he got sick. We say and sing memory eternal many times throughout the funeral service, and every time we pray for the departed. At the funeral, they offered a beautiful explanation to those who might not be familiar with why we use this phrase. It harkens back to the words spoken by the thief on the cross: “Lord, remember me when you come into your Kingdom”. To be remembered by God is to have eternal life — to be among the blessed.

Bishop John also offered more explanation in his short homily to the congregation: at the funeral service, we are helping the departed say their last prayers. We ask for mercy, and for forgiveness, and for rest in blessedness. The texts we use are ancient and poignant: below I’ve included an excerpt written by St John of Damascus.

After the service, we lined up to give Kh Sally the Last Kiss: pressing our lips to the lid of the coffin in veneration for the body that remains and will be resurrected one day. I was unable to attend the burial since Michael woke with a raging sinus infection, but I teared up hearing how the priest threw the first handful of dirt upon the coffin, proclaiming “this tomb is sealed until the Day of Resurrection”.

When I was trying to write a traditional recap, I stumbled across a photo of the shawl I made her at the beginning of 2023, shortly after her cancer diagnosis. Cleaning out our closet, I found the card she wrote for us at Michael’s baby shower and baptism the year prior. Memories both beautiful and bittersweet, much like the funeral service itself.

2023 held so much for us, both good and difficult. Michael’s first birthday, our second child’s first kicks and flutters, settling into our cottage, a Fenton family reunion, my siblings’ graduation from college, and our fourth wedding anniversary, along with extreme power outages, debilitating pregnancy nausea and weight loss, my grandfather’s diagnosis of melanoma, health issues, friends’ deaths, and the decline and death of Kh Sally.

Going into 2024, I find myself thinking about both the previous and the upcoming year more somberly than I usually do. I don’t have any resolutions, just the words spoken at the funeral running through my soul.

I am an image of Thy glory ineffable Though I bear the brands of transgressions: Show Thy compassion upon Thy creature, O Master, and purify me by Thy loving kindness; and grant unto me the home-country of my heart’s desire, making me again a citizen of Paradise.

Maybe at some point, I’ll write a more formal recap of 2023. But right now, I can’t do justice to it. The deep goodness and the growing pains and the struggles. My memory is mortal and fallible.

But God’s isn’t.