Do you wonder how I’m handling this whole cancer thing and staying so uplifting when the world’s so broken? I mean, seriously?

Haven’t I been slapped in the face enough just like everybody else? And then Christmas rolled around. How exactly does a wiped-out chemo patient stay merry and bright?

I did what I do best; I worried. Worry, and everything will be okay—my life motto. Would I have the energy for it? And deeper still, if I didn’t keep the magic of Christmas alive, who would?

Indeed not my family.

Alex argued that I did too much, and that’s when I could do things the way I wanted to. I did Christmas Puff-The-Magic-Dragon style. Even knowing how the song ends, I couldn’t help but make Christmas magical. It’s part of my job to dream up the possibilities.

Plus, I needed it to be that way.

My girls lost their youth already, but I’d make do with the leftovers: the holiday cards (even though they have final approval of the photo used), decorations (thankfully, Alexandra still has a few special requests), and gifts (all pre-selected, of course).

Like Alex would be able to pull off Christmas this year the way I always could.

And I’d be good for nothing, anyway. My favorite Christmas song would come on the radio, and I wouldn’t even sing along.

I couldn’t puff magic into Christmas, which amounted to zero magic in the Christmas forecast.

I wasn’t as jolly and upbeat as my blog posts were leading people to believe. I’d say to Alex, “I can’t live up to these posts. People think I’m inspirational, and I’m not.”

But my blog kept me going. Somehow I had to find the courage to live up to my blog.

And my friend’s sister got a second bout of breast cancer. When asked if she was worried, she said, “If you worry, you can’t pray, and if you pray, you can’t worry.” Now that’s something to live up to!

Inspired or not, Christmas Eve came upon us. We got dressed in our Christmas outfits, even though we’d watch the online mass. Deciding whether to wear my wig or a scarf took everything out of me. I closed my eyes through the whole service.

For dinner, I couldn’t eat our traditional meatball sandwich dinner and had a baked potato instead.

And when Alexandra wanted to see Santa come on the firetruck–my number one favorite Christmas activity that no one else cares much about– it was pouring rain, we were late anyway, and I was tired. I almost talked myself out of going.

Time to throw some magic dust on this pity party. If only I knew how.

All I had to do was sit in the car, so I got in the passenger’s seat. When we missed Santa at his regular spot (I told you we were late), and Alex wanted to turn around, I knew enough that Santa would be at the next stop.

At my urging, we chased him, so Alexandra could run out and get her candy cane. (They didn’t hand out the oranges and apples this year).

Christmas seemed to be going on, even in the pouring rain.

Alexandra came up with the idea to take ten photos of Christmas decorations around the house and upload them to our quarantine photos. It brought attention to all the decorations that the family put up this year without me.

Alex and Alexandra had decorated the tree as well. I looked at all the ornaments to see which ones they had picked. I took a picture of our broken Humpty Dumpty.

I’d always gotten such a kick out of it, and now Humpty has more meaning than ever, he’s broken like me.

We put on our matching Christmas pajamas that the girls had picked out this year and watched “It’s A Wonderful Life.” I kept my eyes open long enough to see George Bailey, broken, too.

Afterward, we read the books we always read Christmas Eve, and I decided I’d go to bed and get up in the morning when I had more energy.

That night it rained so hard, I worried that a tree would fall on just one of us. It’s the kind of storm that just might have deposited Dorothy in Oz. If only we could all be together.

And when we woke up, we would be together, just like I had wished Christmas Eve.

Alex and I got up and lit the tree, prepped the presents, and put on some mood lighting because it was dark outside.

Alex walked the dog while I cleared the Dining Room Table and got out the table cloth and candles.

The girls came down, and we wished each other Merry Christmas. We opened our presents, ate, Alex and I danced to a Katie Perry Christmas song, and we played a game. We let Holly outside.

Amazing! I was feeling the magic of Christmas, and I hadn’t done a thing to make it happen. I hadn’t even worried it into being. How could that be?

And then Holly escaped. Not again. We went out to search for her and bring her home. We saw her running around in circles, refusing to come near any of us. Alex said we should go home. She’d come back.

We were all still in our pajamas. It’s not like we could come up with a better idea. So we went back inside to watch “Home Alone.”

It was dusk, and I said we’d better look for Holly before it got too dark. But when we got to the door, she was waiting for us to let her in.

We did our do-over Thanksgiving meal since the first one was the day after chemo, and this time we ate in the Dining Room.

Skylar had the idea to write ourselves letters to put in our stockings for next year. Just as we finished our notes, it started to snow. So we put on our gear and ran outside.

The girls didn’t want to go for a walk since the snow had stopped. But I could still see it. They turned back to go inside. No one would walk with me, except Alex. And how fitting, he’s been by my side all along.

And as we walked and watched the snow flurries fall, it all came together. The magic of Christmas doesn’t come from my hands. It’s humanly impossible to replicate the love, magic, and joy that God has given me.

I had to be broken and get my life all messy like finger paints to see I don’t need to worry, God will give me the strength I need to be the warrior who makes it through the storm to see the snow again. Damn if I didn’t feel uplifted.