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Merry Christmas 2024 from Crinkle Cat

This year is particularly bittersweet for me, as it marks my first Christmas without my mother.

Her absence has left a void that’s hard to put into words, but it’s also made me reflect on the many cherished memories we shared during the holidays. One of my favorite Christmas moments was back in 1996, when my parents pulled off the ultimate troll. They gift-wrapped a massive box, and when I opened it, I found a giant pink dollhouse inside. I was utterly confused — until I opened the dollhouse door and a Nintendo 64, along with a flood of games, spilled out. That Christmas morning, I was completely mesmerized by Super Mario 64, and it’s a memory I’ll always hold close to my heart.

As the years went by, Christmas became less of a big deal in our household. Our small family grew even smaller, and we drifted apart from our extended family on the East Coast. Decorations became sparse, and eventually, we stopped celebrating altogether. It felt like the magic of the season had faded.

But then, during the COVID-19 pandemic, I found solace in the babyfur community. Connecting with others virtually during the holidays became a lifeline for me. Whether it was chatting on Discord or Telegram, I felt a warmth and acceptance that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. When life started to return to some semblance of normalcy, my mother fell ill, and her passing this year left me emotionally shattered. Throughout it all, my friends in the babyfur community were there for me, offering unwavering support and reassurance.

Volunteering for BabyFurCon this year was a major turning point for me, a beacon of light during one of the darkest periods of my life. As I worked alongside the incredible staff and volunteers, I felt a sense of belonging that I hadn’t even realized I was missing. These were people who understood me on a level that few others could, and their acceptance was a balm to my wounded soul. Even as my mother’s health declined, the people at BFC made sure I wasn’t alone. They checked in on me, not out of obligation, but out of genuine care. They kept me company during long planning calls, shared laughs, and reminded me that I was part of something bigger — a community that valued me for who I was.

When the convention finally happened, it was nothing short of transformative. I walked around the con in disbelief at first, overwhelmed by the sight of people who were openly diapered, dressed in ways that completely embodied the person they always knew they were. Seeing them in such a liberated state was like witnessing pure authenticity, and it helped me reach a state of bliss that I never thought I’d experience again after my mother died. The disbelief slowly wore off, replaced by an overwhelming sense of peace and belonging. I wandered from event to event, room to room, feeling like I had finally found a place where I truly belonged. It was a feeling I never wanted to let go of.

If I could take the euphoria I felt at BFC and replicate that feeling for the rest of my life, I know I could live a full life — one not tied down by the pain and sorrow of the emotional trauma I’ve carried for decades. The convention was more than just an event; it was a sanctuary, a space where I could be myself without fear of judgment. It reminded me that joy and connection are still possible, even in the face of immense loss. For those few days, I wasn’t just surviving; I was thriving, surrounded by love and understanding that helped me navigate my grief. BabyFurCon wasn’t just a convention — it was a long and glorious moment in time that saved me, and I’ll forever be grateful for the healing it brought into my life.

This Christmas, I’ve been gifted with diapers and items that have further validated my place in this community. These gifts are more than just material things — they’re a reminder that people are invested in my happiness and well-being. This year has been incredibly tough, and I’ve struggled with severe anxiety and suicidal thoughts. But every morning, I wake up to the sun shining, the birds chirping, and my boyfriend telling me he loves me. I have friends who check on me, make sure I’m padded and comfortable, and remind me that I’m loved and accepted.

To me, Christmas is about that feeling of connection — of knowing that even in a cold, cruel world, there are people who care about you. It’s about the love I feel for all of you, who have welcomed this 40-year-old lion into your lives with open arms.

Thank you all so very, very much for being my support system.

Merry Christmas, everyone. Happy Holidays. I’m so grateful for each and every one of you.

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