My mother has decorations to commemorate each occasion on the calendar from the New Year to Christmas. The decorations for the next holiday typically come out as the trinkets of the previous celebration were being stowed away. I have childhood memories of lacey pink paper hearts being with Easter Bunny figurines and bouquets of silk spring flowers. The red, white and blue banners of summer holidays would be stowed away as she took careful inventory of decor for the remainder of the year.

Halloween in our house was filled with paper skeletons with hinged joints, green witches with crooked noses, black cat cutouts, and ghosts that danced with the breeze of an opening door. Halloween was my father’s time to shine. He always looked forward to decorating, getting dressed up and handing out treats to youngsters.

Out of all the holidays my mother curated collections of ornamentation for, Christmas was – and remains – her absolute favorite. My father’s favorite holiday has always marked the beginning of my mother’s official holiday trimming time.

Only at my parents house would you bring Christmas decorations from the garage through the back door while there were trick or treaters at the front door.

Crepe paper turkeys and pumpkins would make their appearance for a short time. But as Thanksgiving inched closer, her Christmas baubles slowly began to take over. There were themed trees in every room. Life-sized Santa and Mrs. Claus greeted visitors at the front door. Beds would be freshly made with fancy holiday sheets and quilts. Every cabinet had a bow, bell or snowflake. Every surface of her home would be covered in the colors and characters of Christmas.

If you think this sounds a bit too commercialized, I would agree. It is not my cup of Christmas cheer. It is, however, my mother’s and she loves her home and the magic of the holidays.

As a child, surrounded by all this stuff, you would think I would lose the meaning of holidays. That isn’t the case at all.

Growing up on military bases, both overseas and stateside, it was rare that we had a true family holiday celebration. On very rare occasions, we would travel to my parents’ hometown for the holidays but I remember very few gatherings with aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents.

What I do recall clearly are the holidays spent far away from extended family. Even though we were far from our loved ones, our family rarely sat at a holiday table set for just the five of us.

Thanksgiving typically found us in military mess halls feasting with young soldiers who were far away from their families, many facing their first holiday alone. For our Christmas meal, a soldier or two would always be seated at our table as guests of honor. There always were gifts to unwrap and traditions to be shared. For a few hours, they weren’t just soldiers my dad brought home. They were family.

It wasn’t until I was grown and faced a miserable holiday alone that I understood the crushing loneliness those men and women must have felt.

The sad truth, I have learned, is you don’t have to cross oceans to find folks facing that same feeling this holiday season. There will always be an extra space at my table, and in my heart, for the clerk at the corner store who volunteered for the holiday shift because they have no one at home; for the single parent who has to celebrate holidays late because schedules didn’t mesh; for the spouse sitting alone while their partner works a long shift at the hospital; for the elderly neighbor who lost their spouse this summer; and for the person who, for whatever reason, just couldn’t be with family this year. There is aching loneliness in our communities and it shouldn’t be that way.

It turns out, the meaning of the holiday season was taught to me at the holiday table surrounded by the glittery garnishments and twinkling lights my mother adored.