It’s noon on December 24th, and we don’t have a single Christmas gift for our kids. You’d think I’d be panicking, but I’m strangely calm. Maybe because I know, deep down, that something bigger than gifts is unfolding.
For the second year in a row, COVID has crashed our Christmas plans. But what happened this year… it’s a story I’ll tell forever. A story about disappointment, resilience and real Christmas magic.
We’re a family of five my husband Dave and I, and our three kids living in Canada. We’re U.S. citizens, and for the past two years, the pandemic has made it nearly impossible to get home to see our loved ones.
This year, we decided: it’s time. We were going to spend Christmas in the U.S. The kids had been counting down for months. Not for the presents but to finally see grandparents, cousins, friends. They wanted the parties, the chaos, the late-night giggles with cousins in matching pajamas.
We planned it all. Outfits for Christmas parties and family photos. Carefully selected gifts, shipped straight to my parents’ house in Pennsylvania. Suitcases packed. Passports and vaccination cards laid out. The fridge emptied. The dog’s paperwork printed. Our 7-hour drive mapped and ready.
And then, I opened my email.
Five confirmed COVID cases in our eldest son’s classroom.
We got him tested just in case. He’d had a cold, but it seemed minor. A few hours later: positive. Then our daughter. Then Dave. Then me. Then our youngest. All five of us: positive.
The trip was off. We were quarantined until the 26th.
The kids were devastated. There’s no way to soften that kind of blow when you’re little. To them, this wasn’t a “change of plans.” It was the worst thing that had ever happened.
And if you’re a parent, you’ll understand this next part: what do you do when every single gift is stuck across an international border you can’t cross, your kids still believe in Santa, Amazon Prime doesn’t really mean prime where you live, and you have zero family nearby?
Here’s what we did.
We held them when they cried. Especially our daughter who cried every day. She even asked if Santa could just get rid of COVID instead of bringing presents.
We restocked the fridge with delivery. We ordered more takeout than usual. We unpacked our bags. Canceled our plans. Put the passports back in the drawer.
And then we decided: we are going to show up anyway. Even if it’s not the Christmas we wanted.
We baked cookies. Built wobbly gingerbread houses. Made homemade gifts. Had a sleepover in the living room. Went sledding at night. Watched movies. Decorated salt-dough ornaments. Argued. Laughed. Made up. FaceTimed with family. Even dressed up for our traditional photo with Santa—in our living room, using Dave’s office Santa suit.
We let them see us sad, yes. But also trying. Trying our best to create joy out of this mess.
But even still, the tree was empty. And they’re young enough to believe. We needed something to go under that tree.
And that’s when the real Christmas miracle started to unfold.
Dave’s siblings offered to drive 14 hours round-trip
just to bring the gifts. Dave’s mom offered to come for Christmas. And my parents… they were already on the road.
As I sat typing this, they were two hours in, passing Scranton. They got tested, packed their car full of presents, and left without knowing if they’d even make it across the Canadian border. If the tests were delayed, or a border agent was having a bad day, they could be turned away—or stuck for hours as their car was searched.
But they came anyway.
Because that’s what family does.
And this is the part that still makes my heart catch.
They made it.
They arrived late Christmas Eve, quietly stashed all the gifts in our garage, slipped off to a hotel… and early Christmas morning, they walked through our front door—completely undetected.
Our kids ran down the stairs, raced past the pile of presents… and straight into their grandparents’ arms.
And that? That moment?
That was the best gift of all.
