Christmas was Levi’s favorite time of year. The twinkling lights, the sounds of festive music, the joy of gathering together—it all brought him so much happiness. But it wasn’t just the holiday itself that excited him; it was the act of giving. Levi had this amazing gift for knowing what people truly wanted. He was observant in a way that made every gift feel so personal and thoughtful. He wasn’t just good at picking out presents; he was great at understanding people.
I can still remember the way his eyes would light up when he found the perfect gift for someone. He would listen carefully to what people liked or mentioned in passing and then go out of his way to find something that perfectly matched. He loved the surprise in their eyes when they opened it, but what he really loved was the act of giving. There was nothing more satisfying to him than watching someone’s face light up because of something he had carefully chosen for them.
Every year, we had traditions, but Levi’s favorite one was always the present guessing game. It became something of a challenge for him. He would get so creative with hiding his gifts, making sure that we had absolutely no clue what was inside. He’d wrap them in layers of paper, stuff them into boxes that were too big or too small, or even put them inside something completely unexpected. And when the time came for someone to open one of Levi’s presents, the energy in the room would shift. You could feel his excitement, the way his body would practically vibrate with joy as we tried to guess. His laugh, loud and contagious, would fill the room when we finally figured it out.
Now, without Levi, Christmas is different. The traditions still exist, but the magic he brought with him is gone. I miss the way he would fill the house with his excitement, the way he’d chase us around to guess what he got us, and how his infectious energy could make the whole room come alive. The holidays now feel quieter, emptier. I miss hearing him laugh, seeing his face light up when someone loved what he had picked out, and feeling his joy in every moment.
The house feels so much quieter without him, and it’s hard to keep the traditions alive when the person who made them special is no longer here. I wish I could hear his voice again, see his smile, and feel the way he made every moment of Christmas feel so full. Christmas doesn’t feel the same without him. It’s a reminder of the absence I can never fill, and no matter how much time passes, the ache never truly fades.
This Christmas, as I look at the empty space where Levi used to be, I’ll hold onto the memories—the laughter, the excitement, and the joy he brought to every holiday. And I’ll carry those moments with me, even as the holidays feel different without him.
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