I’m not a psychologist or a therapist, and I never completed that psychology minor I once aimed for in college. However, it’s quite apparent that I often resort to humor as a way to cope. I tend to deflect my pain with laughter and reframe my sadness to make it more bearable.
Take the Elf on the Shelf, for instance. I often joke about it, acting as if I don’t have the time or energy for it. But that’s only partly true; I am, admittedly, quite lazy. The real reason I shy away from the Elf on the Shelf is that it brings back bittersweet memories of a childhood elf.
Childhood Memories
Growing up, my brother and I played hide-and-seek with that elf every December. He would hide it in our living room while I searched for it, and he would tease me from his large green chair, giving me clues about whether I was getting “hotter” or “colder.” Once I found it, we would share laughter and joy, taking turns hiding the elf. As the years went by, the hiding spots became more elaborate, and our teasing grew louder.
We played this game throughout the holiday season, year after year, long after we were considered “kids.” It was something I eagerly anticipated each Christmas, and I like to think my brother did too.
A Bittersweet Reminder
But now, I say “did” because he is no longer here, having succumbed to suicide a little over two years ago. Now, I can’t see that elf without feeling a tightness in my chest and tears welling up. I can’t help but wonder if he was battling deep depression while we played our game. Did he ever think of our joyful moments during the Christmases that came after? I push these thoughts away, often making jokes about the elf to shield myself from the pain.
A New Generation
Recently, my children asked me for an elf, and everything shifted. We were having a delightful afternoon, having just visited Santa, enjoyed a fun lunch filled with laughter, and explored a toy store where we stumbled upon the elf. I quickly walked past the display, but my kids stopped in their tracks. They were unaware of what that elf signifies for me. To them, it represents the magic and excitement of Christmas—the same feelings I once cherished.
My son eagerly approached me, holding an elf and asking, “Mom, can we get this?” His hopeful expression made my heart soften. I glanced at my daughter and saw the same anticipation mirrored in her eyes. In that moment, I was flooded with memories of my brother, and the emotional weight was overwhelming. I fought back tears and struggled to respond.
“I’ll buy it with my own money,” my son then declared, and in that instant, I decided to let down my defenses. I embraced the pain and told them I would purchase the elf.
Creating New Traditions
As I added the elf to our cart, I explained our unique rules: “In our house, the elf works a little differently. You two will take turns hiding him. One night, your sister will hide him, and you’ll find him in the morning. The next night, it will be your turn, and you’ll hide him for her to find. You can even play hide-and-seek with the elf during the day.” Both kids happily agreed, excitedly discussing names for the elf all the way home.
Hearing them laugh and play together now fills me with the warmth of cherished memories with my brother. Although those moments are gone, they reside in my heart. We have breathed new life into a Christmas tradition, sharing joy, magic, and love once more.
Resources for More Fun
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Conclusion
In summary, the Elf on the Shelf became a poignant reminder of my childhood and my brother. Despite the pain, embracing new traditions with my children helps keep those joyful memories alive while creating new ones.