The year the tradition started of wearing matching family pjs was our last Christmas with my mom. Looking at the picture of the ten of us it started with, you would have no idea the story behind the pajamas. The moment that photo was taken, I also had no idea that I’d only have less than two months left with my mother. Instead, the image portrays a happy family one Christmas afternoon.
It was my idea to wear matching pajamas, as I believed Christmas was about more than presents. I wanted something to bring us closer together, particularly the concept of matching onesies. The goal was for adults and children to relate by wearing the same thing, reminiscent of a time filled with childlike wonder. Little did I know that this idea would spark a new tradition, doubling in size five years later.
To my surprise, when I presented the idea to my family, everyone agreed, likely because I seldom asked for anything for Christmas. Witnessing my family embrace something new, and step outside their comfort zones for my Christmas wish warmed my heart.
Fast forward five years, and the tradition had evolved considerably. So much had changed, particularly in how we acquired the matching family pajamas. On a bustling Black Friday morning, we embarked on a mission to beat the lines and secure our needed sizes. Macy’s, as a doorbuster sale, offered a variety of matching family pajamas that I could choose from. Amid the excitement of the shopping frenzy, the pattern with all the sizes required was the one I ultimately selected.
I purchased one set of cozy, soft fleece pajamas for myself and eight for my brother and his family, with whom I would spend Christmas as I had for years. The base color was a warm grey, adorned with a festive ensemble of a snowman, elf, and a red Christmas tree with a gold star. These footed pajamas brought extra comfort to the adults as they came with hoods. As the family gathered around, comparing the details, we realized only my brothers’ pajamas came with pockets, and we felt a twinge of playful disappointment, agreeing that pockets would have been the perfect addition. The kids chimed in, wishing for hoods on their pajamas to make them even better. Despite the familial banter about pockets and hoods, the joy of the matching pajamas added a festive warmth to our Christmas tradition.
Despite the recent inclusion of my mother in our festivities, our strained relationship prevented me from considering pajamas for her. While I could claim uncertainty about her attendance, the truth was I knew she would be there. In a conversation with my sister-in-law about my mother’s participation, I callously stated that I didn’t care if she was left out.
Contrary to my indifferent stance, my sister-in-law felt differently and took the initiative to buy pajamas for my mom. On the day before Christmas, as I prepared my things for the celebration at my brother’s house, I suddenly changed my heart and questioned if I was wrong. In a panicked text to my sister-in-law about whether it was bad that my mom would be left out, she acknowledged feeling bad and promptly ordered a set for my mom after our conversation. Thanks to my sister-in-law’s thoughtful gesture, my mother was delighted to take part in wearing them.
Witnessing how happy it made her stirred a sense of remorse within me, realizing I had chosen not to buy her a set. As she passed two months later, that guilt grew even stronger. Of course, had I known it would be her last Christmas, I would’ve acted differently. But that’s the unpredictable nature of life, isn’t it? We never know what tomorrow may bring.
To this day, I am grateful to my sister-in-law for buying my mom’s Christmas pajamas. She not only filled a void that I had created but also stepped in for me when I was too deep in my feelings of hurt to act like a daughter. She had her own relationship with my mother, loving her as a daughter should—a way my mom desired and deserved.
I’ve undergone significant changes since that Christmas. God has worked in me, replacing my heart of stone throughout the years since my mother’s passing. The work began with her departure, and much of what I thought I knew and felt died with her, leaving a real void in her absence.
I realized a little too late just how much I loved my mother. And though it hurts to be filled with so much love that I cannot express it to her, instead of allowing the grief to overcome me, I use it to fuel me into loving those around me in the here and now for who they are. What started as a Christmas wish that year with those pajamas has now become a Christmas tradition that began with my mom, even though it was her last. Each year, as our family grows, it becomes a way to honor her memory by keeping it going.
