Friday night, we went to the Christmas tree lighting in my hometown. My mom served dinner later than I expected, and we were all taking a leisurely pace at the house. I kept saying things like “we need to get ready to head downtown,” but everyone was acting like there was no reason to rush. By the time we finally left, the parking was a total nightmare. I’ve actually never had that much trouble parking in my hometown before. Things change.

As Jack and I were walking toward the tree, I noticed how slowly the families with small children had to walk. Jack and I moved quickly. Jack kept starting to run then looking back at me and saying “I don’t want to lose you.” He didn’t mean he was afraid of getting lost; he meant that I needed to run faster.

For once I did not feel jealous of all the happy (and not so happy) families. I enjoyed the pace at which Jack and I could move, nimbly, just the two of us. I enjoyed the intimacy of having only him to focus on. When Santa was doing the countdown until the Christmas tree lights would illuminate, Jack climbed into my arms. “My back hurts just looking at you,” my mother said. Even though he weighs well over fifty pounds, I am used to carrying him. He didn’t feel heavy and it didn’t feel like a strain to hold him for a few minutes. It was a pleasure. We counted down together. Then, after the lights came on, he put both hands on my cheeks, he turned my head, so my ear was next to his mouth, and he sang quietly “Merry, merry, merry Christmas mommy,” into my ear with an innocence that might never be repeated. Time stood still.

The Christmas tree lighting was the last thing that we did as a family, in 2018, before Jack’s dad left. I had felt discomfort as the day approached, fearing that I would again feel an absence, the absence of a partner, of a “real” family, of Alexander. Instead, when the day came, it felt whole and perfect just as it was. Jack and I have built something just the two of us. While I have the sense that this will be the last year that he and I will be doing these rituals alone, I feel less grief over the partner and children that are not here yet. I love the simplicity of my tiny family.