The Empty Chairs of Christmas
Christmas has a way of filling the air with sound—wrapping paper tearing, cutlery clinking, and familiar songs playing softly in the background. The table grows crowded with food and stories, little jokes that only make sense to us, and the joyful chaos of being together. And yet, amid all that fullness, I always notice the empty chairs. Some are momentary—empty not because of absence, but distance. When we are in South Africa, I miss the voices of Greece. When we are in Greece, my heart aches for the rhythm of our life back home. My family has always lived stretched across two continents, two time zones, and two homes. And every festive season, no matter where we are, someone is missing. Technology helps. It pulls us closer. We send photos, call across dinner tables, and share a laugh through screens. It’s something—and I’m thankful for it—but not everything. It doesn’t fill the seat. It doesn’t carry the smell of the food, the warmth of the hug, or the overlapping chatter of a shar...