By the time this column is published, Christmas 2016, heck even the year itself will be tucked quietly away within the pages of history. But, as I sit at home pounding away on my laptop, the day remains in its infancy. The silence is almost deafening, and I am not merry.
The last ten or twelve months have been difficult. There is much unrest in our lives and I am tired. I am an obsessive, compulsive first born who plans for every imaginable contingency, but some circumstances cannot be controlled, they require time and patience, two intangibles often in short supply.
It is 8 a.m., and by now I’m sure many living rooms are filled with laughter, excited chatter, and empty boxes, crumpled wrapping paper, brand new toys and perhaps the smells of breakfast wafting though the air. But what no one prepares you for is the evolution of the nuclear family; what happens when the kids are grown, or extended family is far away?
Two of our children are home for the holiday but still nestled in their beds, fast asleep. We celebrated early with my oldest son so he could be with his girlfriend and her family on Christmas Eve in another town. They will join us later today at grandpa’s house, but still, it is our first Christmas morning without him, and I’m sure this is only the beginning of what will follow in the years to come.
This year there was no holiday baking; the demands of life did not leave time to even squeeze in a batch of fudge, and my children were disappointed. So now we add #momfail to the list of reasons for my less than cheerful disposition. I know the reasons for celebration today extend far beyond my “woe is me” attitude, but try as I might, I cannot seem to shake it.
I wish I could at least take solace in knowing my sorrow is my own, but unfortunately, I know it is not. This season of joy also brings much heartache. A very dear cousin of mine lost her first-born son not even two months ago. Although I am certain family surrounds her today, I cannot begin to imagine the burden she bears missing her baby boy. For while he was an adult, he was still her baby, and parents ought never outlive their children. My holiday celebrations may change with time, but hers is forever altered, without hope for recovery, and my heart grieves for her.
My oldest niece recently gave birth to her first child, my sister in law’s first grandchild. She lives in California, while her mother resides in Texas. Not only is this our first family Christmas without my niece, we do not get the pleasure of celebrating the newest family member’s first Christmas either. I’ve seen pictures, he’s a doll, and I know his grandmother longs to be close not only to him, but to his mother as well.
And there are others, real people separated from the ones they love because of death, distance, incompatible schedules, and fractured relationships in need of repair. The list is long, I am certain. No doubt, social media exacerbates those feelings of loneliness and discontent. Sometimes, we can look at what really is just a “highlights reel” and make unrealistic comparisons, which in reality have no basis.
Each of carries with us an invisible set of baggage. Hidden within those bags are the hurts and disappointments that shape our worldview. We can choose to allow those burdens to weigh us down, or we can choose to keep moving in spite of them. Neither option is easy for the bags are heavy, but succumbing to the weight leads to a path for which there are few exits.
Me? I managed to tuck away my discomfort and enjoy the simple pleasures the day did hold; cooking breakfast with my daughter, seeing the delight on my children’s faces as they opened their gifts, meeting up with extended family and pulling off a holiday dinner despite some tough circumstances.
Santa left no magic potion in my stocking that would make everything better, the choice to change perspective was completely mine. The day was far from perfect, but truly perfect Christmas’ exist only on glossy magazine pages and in sappy Hallmark movies.
Until Next Time,
Becky J Miller
Warrior Princess