I couldn’t tell you much about the last time I packed up Christmas, except for the fact that I was clearly heartbroken over having to do so.

It was likely the first weekend in January, and I was likely still flying high thanks to the Vicodin from my then-recent knee surgery. I remember decorating (pre-surgery) but I don’t remember putting it all away. Oh, pain medication…why couldn’t you also numb the loss of Christmas?

As I started unboxing things today, in between sneezing my head off from my cold (and/or the 12-month accumulation of dust I’d brought in from the garage), little bits of last Christmas came back to me.

I unboxed Christmas stockings, a recycled tradition that I brought back last year after not having had them since childhood. I unboxed the small Nativity for the fireplace mantle, along with a six-foot, shimmering, frilly strand of gold garland that I’d purchased at the same time. Christmas was returning.

All the Christmas ornaments were, more or less, the same — save for the cocktail-themed collection my mom bought me last year and that I completely forgot about. I was excited to see them again.

So many things that I didn’t want to say goodbye to were once again in front of me, and I’ve no idea where the year went. I was so convinced that this Christmas would take an eternity to arrive, but it feels like it showed up in the blink of an eye.

Tonight I am thankful that my most favorite time of the year is once again upon us. On one hand, it’s a nice reminder that time continues to pass, even though we think that day, that moment, that milestone will never get here. On the other hand, it’s a reminder that time continues to pass, even though we sometimes hope it could slow down just a little bit.