It’s only happened a couple of time as Christmas has approached. Last week Goddess and I found ourselves sitting under the decorated tree and it was a lonely and frustrating evening. Then a couple of nights ago I sat up late into the night staring at the lights contemplating … everything.
Last night my family gathered at my mother’s house for the annual celebration. Dad wasn’t there, of course, but David, Age, Jeremy and I drove to Driftaway where a plaque hangs honoring him. All of his friends were there and we all embraced and they told us stories about things Dad had said or done. We were all moved by how much they love him though it’s been a year-and-a-half since he died.
Back at Mom’s house David’s family looked dressed for Christmas with Reindeer sweaters and bright colors. Angi wore black and her sons were dressed as though ready to take the field for a football game. My kids and I looked like we had just stumbled in from a Pfish concert; or maybe the Grateful Dead.
The table was filled with ham, turkey, dressing, macaroni and cheese, greens, beans, bread and too many things to possibly eat. There was plenty of wine and iced tea.
Mom asked me to say a few things before dinner so I recognized our friends who were there and then turned it over to David, who said grace. Meaning he had this long soliloquy with God. Afterwards he took Dad’s place of going first in line for the food.
Presents were distributed to the kids and then the smaller ones started singing Christmas carols. Everyone laughed when they mixed up the words to “Frosty the Snowman” or “Oh Tannenbaum”. The room was filled with all of the things that Christmas is supposed to bring.
I sat staring out of a window. At one point I noticed my Mother staring at me as I stared outside. I really wasn’t there. The whole Christmas season has been out of sorts and I’ve done my best to avoid it. I looked at Mom and she resumed singing along with the kids. I stared out of the window again. Everything in the room was muted.
“Nobody ought to be alone on Christmas,” Darlene Love sings. Yet I am.
It is funny after spending a career making certain that everyone else in the world wasn’t, I suddenly am. I feel it the most when I wake up in the morning. I shake it off when I get to the Breakfast Club but it returns right before I go to bed.
Others feel it too even though they may be sleeping beside someone or have a house full of children. I understand that. But Thanksgiving launched a Christmas spent in three-quarter time for me.
It is also the anniversary of when I was married. Anniversaries are funny things. They can be joyous if you are still in love with the person that you married all of those years ago or they can be agony if you’re not.
On the day that someone you loved with all of your heart dies … well you grow to never really like that day again.
At least for this year, Christmas has taken on the sad representation of the swan song of a marriage. I remember it fondly and when I read what I wrote then it is full of optimism and hope. I remember dancing with my wife and taking walks down the beach though as our time in St. Martin drew to again she withdrew. A couple of weeks later it was all over.
I sit on a plane writing this. The year is ending as it began. I am heading back to St. Martin for Christmas by myself. It appears I’ll be returning much earlier than I intended because my passport expires in a few days and even friends in Congress can’t get anything done until after the New Year’s (HA as if they get much anything done anyway!).
No question that the past year was the most difficult and frustrating that I’ve ever lived. The first half was full of loss. The second half has been this Sabbatical that should have been taken long ago. I’ve learned a lot about other people but mostly about me. During the last few months joy has returned to me.
For Christmas this year Shirley gave me an ornament that meant a lot to her. Chelsea and Sam gave me Monty Python. A lot of people gave me grief and heartache. Then there were these angels that showed up though from the most random of places. I choose to dwell on them and the coming of a new year.
Or as the Beatles sang, “It’s getting better all the time.”
“Couldn’t get much worse.”
