A Christmas That Arrived Late

Christmas didn’t go quite as planned this year.

I had been tending toward it for months — not just planning, but holding it. Holding the anticipation of time with my son’s family, and the rare gathering of my whole, big family. These days are not casual to me. I carry them inward long before they arrive.

But this year, the shape of Christmas shifted.

Many of us know this feeling — when a season asks something different than we prepared for.

And strangely, gently… that was okay.

Let me begin where it truly started.

On Monday, I went to walk into my son’s house for my usual babysitting day. The door was still locked. That simple thing spoke volumes. A locked door means the night had been hard.

My son came to answer, worn thin by illness. He shared that he had been very sick — what they thought was food poisoning — and that Mileena, my oldest granddaughter, had been sick as well. My daughter-in-law, five months pregnant, was struggling with pressure and discomfort that has no quick remedy.

As he spoke, a quiet knowing moved through me.

This didn’t feel like food poisoning.
It felt like a virus.

But the name didn’t matter.

What mattered was presence.

This was the moment they needed me most, and so I was there.

My oldest granddaughter was not her usual wild, luminous self. She needed more holding than doing, more closeness than play. There were moments of mess, moments of tending, but thankfully she never became as ill as her daddy. Even the younger one moved more slowly than usual, her energy turned inward.

I watched as my son and daughter-in-law gathered themselves enough to attend her OB appointment. Our little one is doing well, for which I am deeply grateful — though her body is carrying so much right now.

The next morning, my own body spoke.

I woke with my stomach unsettled, a quiet warning I chose to push past. I told myself I would still make it to our annual Christmas Eve gathering — the one time each year when my parents, my siblings, our children, and our grandchildren all come together.

I pushed through. I went shopping. I prepared meatballs to contribute to the hors d’oeuvres everyone was bringing. I made dinner, still hoping my body would cooperate.

And then, as evening settled in, my body claimed its voice.

What followed was nearly ten hours of illness — no true sleep, only brief moments of collapse before rushing back again. By morning, it was clear. Christmas Eve as I had imagined it was not going to happen. My bones ached. My body needed rest in a way that could not be negotiated.

My son and daughter-in-law felt terrible.

But there was nothing to apologize for.

I had been exactly where I was needed, exactly when I was needed.

Later that evening, just as I began to feel a little steadier, my sweet dog Davina became ill. Once again, I was called into tending. My body still longed for rest, but she needed me more. By 3 a.m., she was finally calm, and we rested together.

So Christmas morning arrived quietly.

"Christmas doesn’t lose its meaning
when it arrives late — it reveals it."

Instead of gathering, I stayed home. I watched over Davina. I listened to my body. I honored what was being asked of me rather than what I had hoped for.

And so, Christmas did not arrive on either day I expected.

It came in another way.

And so, we celebrated with my son and his family on the 26th.

We arrived while the girls were still napping. There was something sweet about that pause — the four of us adults sitting together, talking quietly, breathing in a moment of calm before the house filled again with little footsteps and voices. Gifts waited patiently. Time softened.

Mileena, my oldest granddaughter, woke first. I went to get her, and the way her face lit up when she saw me made every ache, every missed plan, completely worth it. I am so deeply grateful for the bond I share with both of my girls. Nellie is still too young to express it the way Mileena can, but the connection is already there — woven quietly, growing in its own time.

That morning, I had dressed up. Mileena noticed immediately. She pointed to my outfit, to my heels, delight dancing across her face. She has always loved fancy clothes — especially dresses that twirl — and I have no doubt there is a little fashion spirit moving within her.

Once our sweet Nellie was awake, the girls gathered for their gifts. At two and one, the magic is different than it is for older children — simpler, gentler, less about anticipation and more about discovery. Mileena fell in love with her guitar. She eyed Nellie’s Minnie Mouse ride-along with a bit of jealousy. And everyone was especially pleased with their shared “big gift”: a little table and chairs, with enough room for when their brother is ready to sit and play alongside them too.

I spent time on the floor with the girls, playing and laughing, while my husband and son caught up — the kind of quiet, ordinary moment that holds more meaning than we often realize. Later, my husband took me out for a lovely dinner, just the two of us, a gentle closing to a long and unexpected chapter of the week.

It wasn’t the Christmas I had imagined.

And yes, there is something real about celebrating on the actual day — that collective energy felt across the world, as hearts turn together toward warmth and light.

But in the end, as I said to the kids, I was there when I was needed.

That, I am learning, is its own kind of faithfulness.

“Being present when you are needed
is a deeper devotion
than being present when it is convenient.”

This is what it means to attune —
not to the calendar,
but to what life is actually asking of us.

Life does not move in straight lines or fixed dates. It moves in currents. When we resist those currents, we suffer. When we listen — truly listen — we are carried somewhere else, often exactly where we are meant to be.

Sometimes the invitation is not to fix or force or feel disappointed.

Sometimes the invitation is to go with the flow
and discover the beauty waiting there.

May you learn to listen for the true timing of your life,
and trust that what arrives — even late — arrives with purpose.

May you be guided and protected,