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Surviving Christmas 12/14/2014 4:51:36 AM
Finding joy in the holidays is not easy for us these days. Here I am, Christmas is less than two weeks away and my family is already experiencing that balancing act of emotions.
It's so difficult to allow ourselves to be happy when so much has been lost to us. There was a time we traveled over the railroad tracks and through the town to spend Christmas morning with Grandma. Thirty or forty people would be crammed into that small living room and kitchen and hallway, most of them family, some of them extended family. The big kids (adults) outnumbered the youngsters. I should have foreseen it then. As Christmas approaches, we fondly reminisce over the toy Christmas we had for grownups. We each purchased a toy, nerf guns, ball guns, remote control cars, water cannons, you name the active toy and it was there. The gifts at Grandma's house filled the living room with only enough walk space to get from the front door to the kitchen. Barely enough space allowed people to locate a sitting spot around the tree. So many Christmases were spent that way, the youngsters really making out because every family bought presents for all of the children, even extended and guests. My mother was the greatest at Christmas time. She had so much Christmas spirit, and I always knew where it came from--Grandma. Even my precious daughter--who is now 20--suffers emotional turmoil when remembering Christmases past. With such a large family, how could a child be unhappy at that time of year? How could an adult? Those were the best years of Christmas.
In 2003, those large Christmas times began to change. We still enjoyed being together, but there was that black cloud hanging over our heads, seeping down into our heart, attempting to steal away the joy we wanted to feel, the joy we remembered from the prior year. In October of 2003, my oldest niece died from Juvenile Diabetes at the hope-filled age of 20, only two months after her wedding. She was the first born great grandchild. She was my first born niece. She shared my birthday. We were extremely close. Our family was devastated that Christmas reminiscing past holidays with her, but we continued onward, as life expects. I honestly don't remember much about that Christmas.
In 2004, another blast of cold filled our once warm Christmases. In November 2004, my sister--who had just lost her oldest daughter the year before--died from cancer at the shocking age of 39. Her birthday was on Christmas Eve, and now as I remember her celebrating her birthday with all receiving presents at my mom's house, gentle tears creep down my cheeks. After two lines, my fingers stop typing long enough to wipe them from my jaw. I loved my sister so much; we had been through so much together. When I look into my daughter's face, I see her there, my beautiful sister. I miss her.
Her youngest daughter, tortured with pain of loss as she had been, struggled more than the rest of us. Though we had always been a close family, not far from each other, calling each other or seeing each other at least once a day, she had lost her two musketeers. She had lost all she knew as closest family at the delicate age of 13.
I remember nothing about that Christmas without my sister. I remember my niece not wanting to spend Christmas at Grandma's. I remember her running... always running and we couldn't catch her. I remember how this made my daughter sad because they had grown up so close, like sisters, and she missed her so. I missed her so, but I understood. I wanted to run, too. I remember how angry my sweet niece was at the world, at us, at life. I'm so proud of her for hanging in with us, growing up, planning her 2016 wedding. So many teenagers would not have had the strength to do that. And Christmas would never be the same.
I remember no happy faces at Grandma's except the children. The grownups only bought gifts for the kids. It was all about them, and that was fine, though looking into my daughter's sweet face as she scanned the room, looking for her only aunt, her cousins, I felt her pain. I was doing the same.
Then, two weeks after Easter of 2006, Grandma died. We last gathered at her house for her celebration of life. I close my eyes and see her smile as I enter her house, her open arms waiting for her first born grandchild's hug, the smell of bread, or kolaches emanating from the oven... pause for face wipe. Of course, with this tragic event, Christmas broke up into several different households, my cousins grown with kids of their own and spouses parents, and life goes on and Christmas gatherings get smaller. Nothing would ever be the same for us. We gathered at Mom's on Christmas Eve as always, then stayed home Christmas morning. It was odd. We carried on that way for five years as our little family grew by one, then two. It would not be the same, and we adjusted. Then we lost Mom, and that's all I can say about that. She was our Christmas spirit.
So, as shoppers begin their holiday treks in October, searching for that perfect gift, we wait under the pretense that we refuse to commercial Christmas. We know Christmas is coming and we plan, we remember, we delay that emotional train as long as we can. We try to create new traditions. We do whatever we can to make Christmas joyful and special and fun for those of us who are left: my brother and his wife, my husband, myself, my daughter, my two nieces--my oldest niece lived with Mom through the rest of high school, moved in with us, then went to stay with her father for a summer and decided to remain there. That's our little family, the stragglers left over from a long life of bountiful, joyful, memory making Christmases. What we do now is survive the Christmas holiday, balancing between happy and sad. Decorating, listening to Christmas music, seeking new Christmas traditions. Remembering the old, ushering in the new. Never forgetting where we came from and how we got to where we are and those who were a part of our lives. Never forgetting the ones who made our Christmases so special. Always trying to replace what cannot be replaced, and improve what cannot be improved upon. We muddle through and try to enjoy the company of our loved ones--because that's what is important--though they share the same memories, loss, emotions.
We live.
We long.
We dream.
One day, my family will all be together again on Christmas and it will be the most joyous of all Christmases as the gift we receive will be each other.
