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I grew up Catholic in Queens, New York, and baby Jesus was part of this season. He would be born, and we would miraculously be saved. I remember trundling the two blocks to my local parish church, with my hands shoved in my wool coat pockets to attend midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. The pews were jammed, Mrs. Ayer's soprano singing filled the voluminous arched ceilings, and the priest in his flowing gold and white robes swung the thurible, anointing the parishioners with frankincense and myrrh vapors. The solemn mystery of this night seemed worth the cold I'd subsequently catch, ruining my Christmas vacation.

Taos is far from Queens, and I’m no longer a practicing Catholic, but I still love the mystery inherent in tradition. In years past, as darkness descended on Christmas Eve, I'd cram into the San Geronimo Church at the Tewa Pueblo for vespers that concluded with a procession through the ancient adobe village plaza. Men in traditional garb, carrying a statue of a dark-skinned Virgin Mother, lead the way amidst towering bonfires that billowed smoke into the crystal cold mountain sky. Church attendees followed behind singing hymns, and though I didn't know most of the words, I would join in when I could.

The Pueblo has been closed since the beginning of the Pandemic, and holiday gatherings aren't what they used to be. In 2020, the tradition of a family and close friend, socially-distanced viewing of a Coen brother's movie began. Why these filmmakers? Strange times call for strange measures?? But who doesn't love the quirky Coen brothers and their filmography should outlive CoVid.

Unfortunately, my younger brother did not. At the end of last year, this tradition was interrupted by his suicide, another type of causality from this virus. The weeks that followed his death were a blur, the trauma freezing my senses, and though I grieved, my numbness mitigated the depth of my sorrow.

Coming up on the year anniversary, I've thawed and am surprised by how the loss feels more intense. The longer I experience this grief process, the more I understand I'm living in a mystery. I don't know how to do this, and from what I've learned from Golden Willow retreat center, there's no "right" way. Make it up as you go along.

This season there will be no church, no Pueblo, but we will watch a Coen brother’s film. Lady Macbeth will be released on Christmas Day, and in this way, though I've never met Ethan and Joel, I feel a bond with them. But I won't venture into a crowded movie theater. Instead, my family and I will watch something at home. And I bet you might guess which film that will be.