We made it through Christmas - everyone had said it would be terribly hard - with joy.

Just as my son, Jesse, and I promised to the memory of his mom, we celebrated the holiday well. And believe that she has looked down from heaven with approval.

The generosity of co-workers resulted in a tree bedecked with ornaments, one that towered over a respectable pile of packages. The kitchen counters overflowed with nut bread, peanut butter cookies and chocolate.

The CDs of carols and sacred music got living room air time until the old disc player gave its last gasp. A manger scene decorated the old oak table.

Jess and I lost his mother this summer to vicious lung cancer. We have grieved but also find hope and are determined to live in celebration. And by looking up from our wounds, we can see the brightness of the world around us and Joel's touch lingering, too. Now, it doesn't mean that the odd corners of the holiday didn't find me shedding tears .

When I discovered a box with an ornament referring to her first Christmas in heaven, I sobbed and Jess, good man that he is at 21, pulled an arm around me. I hung it underneath the angel and next to an ornament bearing Joel's picture.

I guess this is the inevitable trading of roles, parent and child, that we all go through with time, and not the first instance since Joel's death.

I left the holiday cards that had arrived daily in the mail unopened until Tuesday night, then Jess and I sat and read them one after another. I wanted to wait and open them all at once to avoid a daily reminder of "Dear Kent: I know this will be a tough time …"

But between the flushes of sadness at missing her were stretches of smiles and bouts of laughter.

I played bass at two services on Christmas Eve music at church; notes of prayer offered up and reverberations of God echoing back. The moment was powerful and grace filled and the touch of God was palpable as the congregants lit each other's candles and a great soft glow filled the darkened room.

I found out how well Joel had taught me through our years by producing Christmas dinner for eight (although only six dined - there would have been room for you too, if I had only known how to reach you).

It came off in much the same fashion as if she were still in charge: Roast beef on her lovely green dishes, twice-baked potatoes with toasted cheddar cheese on top, Judy's Taos corn bake (best corn pudding recipe I've ever tasted), cranberries and olives and little sausages and peppers and toasted pecans and plates of cookies and a cherry pie made by a friend.

Candlelight scattered through the room. A poinsettia flanked by crystal candlesticks made a pretty centerpiece and white cloth napkins in the dragonfly rings gave the table a touch of elegance.

Oleg dined with us and regaled us with passionate stories of Russia and trips to the mountains and music. Alena was mostly quiet - her English is not as strong as Oleg's. Bill and Claire and I were mostly the listening audience. Jess scooted out early to catch the late afternoon surf.

So, you see, we celebrated Christmas well, just as Joel would want, and it wasn't so terrible.

Now, we'll face the other anniversary dates and hard moments: Our wedding anniversary in a week, Joel's birthday in May and Mother's Day without her, the anniversary of her death.

But just as we promised each other shortly she left, everything will be all right in the end and I will see her again.

I do believe.

Kent Davy is editor of the North County Times and can be reached at (760) 740-5401 or davy@nctimes.com.