Our Final Christmas

Another December has arrived, bringing with it another Christmas season—and our 24th Christmas without Sarah. I can still vividly recall that first Christmas without her in 2002, just six weeks after she passed. The mood was somber, and Marissa and I tried our best to stay strong for James, who was still a child deserving of a joyful holiday. Under the tree, each of us found a gift from Sarah—treasures we will keep forever.

Sarah had always loved crafts, but in the fall of 2002, as her health declined, she poured herself into them with a fierce, determined passion, someone who knew time was slipping away. She took plain glass ornaments and carefully painted one for each of us, wrapping them delicately and asking Marissa to make sure they were placed under the tree. We knew then that Sarah understood what was happening. She never wanted to give up, but shortly before she passed, she told Marissa, “I don’t want to be sick anymore.”

Every Christmas and special occasion, I used to set up a camera to record the festivities. But that year, the pain was too raw; I couldn’t bring myself to capture it. I hope those old tapes from earlier years never wear out, because watching them—Christmas mornings, Easter egg hunts, school events, birthdays—warms my heart and breaks it at the same time. They’re filled with beautiful memories of Sarah and James: young, lively siblings full of laughter, energy, and love.

Our last true Christmas as a family of four was in December 2001, a holiday I will never forget. I’m a planner by nature—everyone who knows me will agree—but that year I acted on impulse in ways that were unusual for me. Just as the season approached, I bought tickets to the Radio City Christmas Spectacular. We spent days in New York City visiting the Empire State Building, seeing the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, exploring Macy’s holiday windows, and of course visiting the “real Santa” at Macy’s. Those were spectacular days—full of excitement, magic, and togetherness. Looking back, I think some part of my brain sensed that storm clouds were gathering, that this might be our last chance to experience those moments as a family.

Christmas itself was celebrated as it always had been. On Christmas Eve we ate dinner in the living room by the tree and the fireplace while watching a holiday movie—our cherished tradition. Christmas Day was filled with family and the joyful chaos of the gifts Santa left behind. If only we had known that within four weeks Sarah would become ill and begin her fight for life.

I don’t know if we would have done anything differently, but that Christmas remains one of the most precious we ever shared—perhaps because we were still a happy, healthy family of four, unaware of how quickly everything would change.

Ever since that heartbreaking Christmas in 2002, we have done our best to ease the loss for James. In losing his sister, he also lost part of his childhood—his “partner in crime”, his closest companion. We tried to soften that pain however we could.

As this Christmas approaches, I find myself returning to the beautiful memories of our last full Christmas together in 2001. I cherish the joy, the smiles, and the faces of two wonderful children who never had the chance to grow up side by side—one who became a loving, mature young man, and one who became our angel.