Where I grew up, there was usually snow for the holidays and it sparkled like crystals. I stared out the window as the street light glistened off it. Its beauty mesmerized me, drifting me into another world. In this place, I would see my family around a grand fir brightly lit with packages underneath. My mother would be there in a trendy dress of the time, her dark brown hair cut short. 

But it was the eyes. Those piercing eyes. She had an unmistakable resemblance to Elizabeth Taylor. She smiled like a model for the camera. The images were taken for perpetuity. These memories were forever preserved, not on film, but in their hearts. Was I in there too?

My childhood fantasy house was beautifully decorated. Friends and family came for the yearly festivities. Music played in the background. People stood around the brick fireplace as the fire crackled. Cards and pine branches covered the mantle. The smells coming from the kitchen made me hungry. I almost felt like I was there. How I longed to be a part of this. I wanted to be in the pictures. To sit at the table. I wanted to be a part of their traditions. To be fully accepted as a member of the family. Oh, how I longed for this. 

I’m one of those “fortunate” people that have a birthday after Christmas. If you are a fellow Capricorn, I know you understand this sarcasm. I hoped that the unfortunate timing of my birth might gain me luck in other areas. Knowing this time of year had the potential to be extra lucky, I thought this would be the ideal moment to pray for what I wanted. Being a child and believing in the magic the season brought, I would pray that my biological family would find me and take me home for these treasured moments. After all, my adoptive mom prayed, and she got me. I had to be good, and it would happen for me, also. I just needed to believe. 

I had it all planned. After returning home with my parents, I intended to visit and stay in touch with my adoptive parents. I would write them and visit occasionally. I thought they could just get another baby. This time it could be the boy they told me they initially wanted. I thought they would be happier. I felt I would be. They were nice people, but I wanted my people. After all, I knew this had to be a misunderstanding.

Time and holidays passed. I was the one who had misunderstood who adoption was for. There never was anyone thinking of me on those days. The anemoia the festive season brings felt real, but it never was. Society focuses on the sentimentality of the season. The traditional family tropes are everywhere. Seeing them stirs those memories. My body doesn’t know time. The pain is still present for the holidays I will never have with the family that never knew I existed. 

I have my husband, and we have our own traditions now. We decorate and bake our own way. Neither of us is tethered to the past. However, I still long for the family holidays I envisioned. I miss the family I never knew. The yearning for what was lost has been inside me for many years. It feels like part of me. I need to let it go. I need to make room for new opportunities and what can be. I may never have felt like I belonged to any family, but I can find comfort inside myself. When the thoughts enter my consciousness, I am free to say no. No more. No more focusing on things that can’t be. No more hurting myself. I must focus on the here and now. Stay here. Don’t float into the haunting reminiscences of what wasn’t. The space can be filled with recollections that are real. Look into the faces of those around me now. Remember, they want me here. This pull from the past lingers, but it is slowly fading. Let it continue to fade until it is nothing but a tiny thought in my mind. See it as a snowflake, sparkling like a crystal, weightless and free.