Then Mom and Dad passed away. My sons, nephew and nieces began their own families in distant states. Fortunately the new love of my life’s grandchildren, son, daughter-in-law and ex-wife included me for the ten years we were together. Those times felt like the bustling fun days I’d missed once my own family dispersed.
My partner and I went separate ways and I would invite relatives to my house for Christmas as early as in October. That early, who would have made other plans? But no one wanted to travel those gaping miles in the snow any more than I did, even though my invitation included sunny California beach walks.
The godsend, these past three years, has been my unmarried brother, Perry. We live an hour apart and take turns hosting in order to share several little presents and dinner with the black olives. Martinelli’s and Champagne, too. Three years ago, he added his fiancée, and my very close friend joined us after having part of the day with her son. A couple came, too. They’d already had days and days of celebrating with eleven grandchildren, but were alone on the 25th. Elbow to elbow around my dining table, we shared cracked crab, soup, sourdough rolls, and something scrumptious for dessert. Playing Apples to Apples left us in stitches after dinner.
Last summer, as if a light-switch had been flipped, I finally let go of hoping for a big family Christmas. My sons and brothers lives are happily complete, and for that I’m glad. Soon as I axed my expectations, dates with friends for holiday movies, lunches and dinners filled my December calendar.
Except for Christmas Day.
This year, under sunny if chilly blue December skies, I probably will be alone. Perry and the other usual guests are still in “might come, might not” mode. I had a very satisfying visit with my sons in November, so there’ll be minimal thumb-sucking about missing them. The day after Christmas and New Year’s Eve include friendships begun 61 years ago —thankfully their husbands are men I enjoy as well.
At first I was ecstatic, feeling I’d conquered the longing to slip into a Currier & Ives Christmas scene. Then I ate too many See’s candies and slid backward into “Why will I be alone?” Then I remembered invitations to other families’ homes for the day. The mood pendulum swings, but still there’s that “aha” — I can have good company on Christmas Day. Me.
What will I do on December 25th? Probably take a long beach walk. Certainly phone kin. Eat crab, maybe a whole one. Listen to music, some classical, some schmaltzy. Maybe read Thich Nhat Hanh or Eckhart Tolle to kick off a calmer, more secure new year. Inhale gratitude deeply.
Will it be easy? No, not for me who thrives on having a few interesting people around. If my guests from the past three years decide at the last minute to come over, great. I’m not waiting to hear their plans because I will have at least the first five hours of the 25th as a gift to myself. I have the 24th and the 26th, to share celebratory feelings. And the 27th, 28th …
What changed? I don’t really know. And maybe that’s the miracle of Christmas —unexplained reassurance.
P.S. My friend since seventh grade just called. “Come here, please.” I hope I don’t forget the epiphany; I might need it another year.
©2011 Susan Samuels Drake
Fields of Courage: Remembering Cesar Chavez & the People Whose Labor Feeds Us
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