✨ The In-Between: Moving From Christmas Into the New Year With a Full Heart

There’s something uniquely tender about the days right after Christmas.

The wrapping paper is gone.

The gatherings have softened.

The house feels a little quieter.

The lights are still up, but they glow differently now — less about celebration, more about comfort.

And the air carries this strange mix of exhaustion, gratitude, reflection, and anticipation… all at once.

It’s the in-between —

the gentle space between what was and what’s coming next.

Normally, this stretch of days feels like a pause before momentum picks back up. A time to reset, to breathe, to quietly imagine what the new year might hold. But this year, the in-between feels different.

Heavier.

Softer.

More exposed.

Because this Christmas was our first without my mom.

And moving into the New Year without her feels like crossing a bridge I never wanted to walk — one step at a time, carrying love in one hand and grief in the other.

There’s no map for this part.

No checklist.

No right pace.

Just a quiet reckoning with the fact that life is continuing, even though something deeply familiar is missing. The calendar is turning, but my heart is still catching up.

Some moments, I feel steady.

Other moments, I feel the ache of her absence settle in unexpectedly — during quiet mornings, while packing away decorations, or when I realize this new year will hold experiences she won’t physically witness.

And yet, even here — in this tender, uncertain space — there is still love.

There is still connection.

There is still light.

It shows up in the memories that surface uninvited.

In the way her voice still echoes in my choices.

In the gentle reminders to slow down, to take care of myself, to meet this season with compassion instead of urgency.

This in-between isn’t asking me to move on.

It’s asking me to move with what is —

with the grief,

with the gratitude,

with the love that never left.

So as the year shifts, I’m allowing myself to linger here a little longer.

To honor what was.

To feel what is.

And to step toward what’s next gently — without rushing, without pretending, without leaving her behind.

Because the truth is, she comes with me.

Into the new year.

Into the unknown.

Into the life I’m still learning how to live without her — and yet, somehow, still with her.

Miss and Love You Mom xxoo