My Grown Up Christmas Wish..........
I've never spent Christmas alone. I've never had a great tragedy ruin Christmas. I don't know what it's like to have nobody. But I do know what it's like to lose, somebody.
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Growing up Christmas was a big deal in my house. My dad would decorate the front yard, he even made lawn decorations, my mom would decorate the inside. We would go to mass on Christmas eve and I would anxiously bounce around in the pew waiting to go home and open presents. We all got multiple gifts, since we were a small family (just us 3) we liked to give numerous gifts so the unwrapping process was lengthy and enjoyed. I'm not sure what year we decided to make Rotel dip as our Christmas Eve dinner, but we did, and it stuck. It was our own little family tradition. Our only one in fact.
As my parents were nearing the end of their divorce battle my father used to disappear for periods of time. Sometimes it was for a day, sometimes it was for a few days. We never knew where he was, but always dreaded hearing the garage door opening. He would come in, exhausted, worn out, and I would get that all too familiar pit in my stomach knowing it meant something bad was going on, but mostly knowing it meant he and I were growing farther and farther apart.
With my father's behavior becoming increasingly erratic and his spending becoming more volatile - credit card debt, bouncing checks, and my mom never knowing how much money we had - money was incredibly tight for Christmas gifts. My mom gave me $100 to use to buy gifts for her. I had a friend with a license (I was only 15) take me to Target. I figured I could make $100 go far there. I spent a couple hours finding the perfect gifts. I picked out sleep pants, some kitchen gadgets, and at checkout realizing I had a few more dollars to spend I bought numerous packages of tic tacs. I can't say they were the best gifts I've ever bought, but it's the thought that counts right?
I went home to set to wrapping. A little while later I heard a knock on my door. It was my father. He told me he was there to take me Christmas shopping. I told him I'd already gone. He looked sad, defeated, as if life was winning this hand. At the time I was too defeated myself to care, so I just shut the door and went back to hiding out in my room. Looking back now I see things very differently. I do believe he wanted to take me, I do believe he wanted a lot of things, a lot of things he just wasn't capable of doing with the life skills he was given.
As Christmas Eve approached we hadn't seen my father in a couple of days, I assumed he'd show up that night. Who misses Christmas? My mom and I got ready. I was disoriented as we drove to the church. Where was my dad? We arrived and I looked around. I looked towards the door all of mass but he never showed up. Surely he would show up that night. My mom and I opened our gifts, we halfheartedly smiled and laughed. My father's antics were wearing her down, I was desperately trying to maintain some element of normalcy. With each gift we waited to hear the sound of the garage door raising. Something I usually dreaded, that night I hoped for. But it never happened. He came home a couple of days later. I never did find out where he was that Christmas. I'm not sure it even mattered, the only thing I knew is he wasn't with us. He would never again celebrate Christmas with us. He left a couple of months later, his final disappearing act.
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Each year after my father left I used to look around the church on Christmas Eve, silently hoping he would walk in, silently hoping things would return to the way they were. Even now at the start of the Christmas season when I hear the first Christmas carol I feel a pang of sadness. I used to hate this and quickly dismiss it. Now I choose to feel it. I let it sit with me. I remember what it felt like that Christmas 15 years ago, then I open my eyes and let the wave of gratitude wash over me.
I've never spent Christmas alone. I've never had a great tragedy ruin Christmas. I don't know what it's like to have nobody, but I do know what it's like to lose somebody.
After my father left I told my mom I didn't want to spend Thanksgiving at home, it was too sad. A reminder of a father who would never again cut the turkey. We've turned Thanksgiving into an adventure holiday, always someplace new. However, Christmas, Christmas was mine. Christmas was my little family tradition I needed. Even thought it was made littler, it was still mine. I made the choice to keep Christmas.
I have numerous friends who love Thanksgiving most, less expectation, less chaos. Not me. Christmas is the holiday I didn't let my father ruin. It's the holiday I chose to keep for myself. I still buy my mother numerous gifts. I still find comfort in the unwrapping process. I love the paper and the ribbons and the bows. I love the tree and the lights. I love the music and the sounds. Once upon a time I chose to believe in something bigger, something greater, than the circumstances around me. Each Christmas is a reminder of this.
Everyone has a story. Maybe it's the perfect Christmas complete with family charade games and a table full of food or maybe it's a time of depression or sadness for others, a reminder of who they don't have. Hold space for all of these people. Hold space for what they are feeling. Hold space for the hope that they too can believe in something bigger, something greater.
Christmas is a magical time for me. The smells, the sounds, the familiarity of a piece of a life I got to keep. And yes, the rotel dip still gets made each and every Christmas Eve.
