Age 1

I cry when my mother puts me in puffy coats, as she talks with her soothing voice to calm me. She tells me it isn't that bad, with a smile on her pretty face.

She adds a hat, and gloves, making sure I'm nice and toasty. I cannot help but laugh, a sight that makes her eyes glow.

My father then picks me up, tosses me in the air only to catch me in the next passing second. I giggle uncontrollably. Forgetting I'm even wearing the coat. They strap me into my car seat for a long ride to my grandparents house. All I can see is white falling from the sky through the window, and passing twinkling lights hung over town. I don't know what Christmas is yet, but my mom watches me watch the lights with joy in her eyes, and my father smiles on the drive.

I fall asleep, soothed by the unfamiliar sights.

Age 5

I hate the poofy gloves I must use for snowball fights. I also hate that my brother is too young to be a worthy opponent.

I make snow angels on the ground outside, as the snow gets caught in my hair, my nose is red from the wind, I'm coughing, but still jumping in the snow kicking pieces of it around and laughing like nothing is wrong.

My grandma watches me from the front porch, as my grandpa cooks inside. Soon enough they call me in for soup. I could eat it forever, the bowl warms my somehow freezing hands, and slides down the back of my throat stopping my cough I didn't realize was a problem until now.

My mom cleans the ice out of my hair, and brushes it. She asks me if I had fun, as if it'd be possible not to.

I make my Christmas list, and soon enough cheer when the ball drops on New Year. Enjoy handing out Valentines Day cards to my first crush in school, before I really knew what a crush was.

The snow days, are the best part. Sleeping in, playing dress up, keeping warm with my family. My dad actually getting to be off work.

The little things.

Age 15

The snow has come between me and a sleepover. But it's fine, we'll just talk on the phone. The plans can be remade.

I ignore my boyfriends texts on Christmas Eve when I'm with people, I say it's because I'm with family and friends, but that's just what I told myself to ignore the fact I'm gonna have to break things off with him soon.

When you meet someone in the summer, the affection almost never survives the cold, unfortunately.

I joke with my friends about stories we've made up. Play Halo and Call of Duty games we've played a hundred times before, chasing a nostalgia I know is gone. But I smile. Because they're here. And I'm here. And it's Christmas so I should.

Below the surface it doesn't feel like Christmas. But I never wanted that to be known, so I play the game. I eat the food. I thank people for the gifts.

My mom is enjoying her favorite holiday and that is what's important to me. She still has that light in her eyes.

I am single by New Year. An amazing feeling, one I cherish. You should never hold on to last year's burdens. Maybe this year will be better.

It wasn't.

I'm with a new boy, by Valentines Day. Well, not new. He's familiar, but this is new. Our first attempt at making it work. It's amazing.

So why am I sickened by the answer "yes" I gave to the question I've wanted to hear for so long?

Why did I have a panic attack?

Age 17

The snow, is more like ice. My job is slow and meaningless. The pay is much worse in these times. Christmas, feels forced. I'm still in a committed relationship, but that, also feels forced.

How'd I let it get like this? Best not open that door.

I try to feel like I did when I was a kid, I'm thankful for Christmas, but..I don't feel for it. No hope. No wonder. No excitement. Emptiness. I feel that a lot lately.

So in January, I wrote my suicide letter. Grabbed a knife. Studied my own wrist like it was an unseen discovery. I wondered who would find me. How they'd find me, if I should lock my door. Wondered who would get my stuff. Didn't care. Couldn't find a reason not to.

Selfish. As I always am. The only thing I made sure of, was not to do it at Christmas, because my family still had love for the season.

I couldn't take that from them.

My mother, opened my door, talked to me about something insignificant. Something I can't remember. Something, that kept me alive. She noticed I'd been crying. Talked me down from it, stayed with me till I fell asleep.

She never saw the letter. Never saw the knife I threw on my nightstand. Never knew that was almost our last day together.

Age 30

Maybe I have kids of my own? Maybe I've grown to love the holiday. Maybe it's because of them. Maybe my eyes will match my mom, and I'll finally get it.

Maybe not. I don't want children. I don't understand them. Because I know they'll grow up and lose their sense of wonder too.

What about New Years? Do I still make pointless resolutions that I never follow? Do I still tell myself this year is different? Even when I know it isn't?

What about Valentines Day? Am I in a relationship that isn't dead? Did I find the right guy? Girl? No. I don't believe in love. Shocker, I know.

The snow will dry. Spring will come. And I will be doing this forever.

Age 75

This winter is my last. I don't know what's happened to this point. How could I? Hell, I don't even know if that's true about this being the last.

Maybe I reflect on my career.

Maybe I call my grandchildren.

Maybe I buy another cat.

Maybe I teach someone something.

Maybe I sleep all day.

But, if it's winter, and I'm able, I wanna step outside. Breathe in the cold air, feel it take my lungs. I wanna touch the snow. I wanna lay in the snow, make snow angels, remember how it felt when my mom would pick the ice out.

I wanna cry about it, have the tears dry to my face seconds later.

I wanna have hot coca. I wanna have Grandpa's soup.

I wanna watch Nightmare Before Christmas and sleep.

And maybe, just maybe, I'll feel that feeling again. And it'll all be worth it.