Christmas Memories: Sadness and Joy

I always loved Christmas while growing up because it was a big deal to us as a family gathering, both immediate and extended. For the first 11 years of my life, we got together with my dad's family on Christmas Eve, even at immense inconvenience to other family members, to open presents after midnight when my grandfather arrived from closing up the movie theater he managed. After that, the younger siblings (my dad's generation) rose up in protest and we began having our gatherings at a more suitable day and time and took to drawing names instead of giving gifts to everyone, another hardship on the younger families. Even with all the craziness and sometimes 35-40 people in a small, three-bedroom house, I loved the holidays. And Christmas morning was always just about the four of us: Mom, Dad, my little brother Jim, and me.

However, the year I was 16, we moved 1100 miles away from the town, and everyone, I’d known my entire life. At least that Christmas, it was still the four of us. Unfortunately, Dad died of a heart attack the following May (or March, I'm not sure after 35 years) and Mom insisted we stay where we were. So the Christmas I was 17, there was just Mom, Jim, and me. Mom wanted to make it something to remember as being different, so that it wouldn’t be a memory of loss — any more than it already was — but a new memory. So the three of us talked about it and decided to have lobster tail for Christmas Eve dinner! Mom had never cooked lobster of any sort before, but she asked the man at the fish counter where she bought the lobster. Jim and I made the salad and melted the butter and set the breakfast bar for our feast. We even had little glasses of wine with Mom's regular-sized glass. And it was a very fine meal! It was a nice way to start a new memory.

In addition, my brother and I were panic-stricken that there was no one to fill Mom’s stocking or give her gifts from Santa that year, so we did it. We bought small gifts for her stocking, and we went in together on a single gift for her from Santa. On Christmas morning, Mom quickly figured out who the 'elves' were who had surprised her by filling her stocking, but the look on her face when she found a package to her from 'Santa' was one of shock. I think she believed in Santa for a moment, or that an angel had reached down and given her a gift. Then she saw the smug looks on our faces and realized that her 'angels' were the two teenagers who were her anchor in this world.

By then, our extended families no longer extended. Our family was just the three of us.

Jim, my younger brother and the treasure of my heart, died a few years later by his own hand: he never recovered from our father’s death, which occurred when the two were playing catch in the backyard. Mom and I were down to half our family. Mom remarried not long after his death, which meant that she stepped away from me in several ways as she focused her attention on her new husband. I felt abandoned.

Christmas grew harder after that: all I had was Mom and a step-father I didn't like. He was a jerk, but he did make an effort toward me to make Mom happy and he bought me some of the most creative teddy bear presents I've ever received, such as the one that hung from a hook in the living room for a couple of weeks, a strangely wrapped package hanging from a string. (It was a teddy bear kitchen angel!) Then Gram and my aunt and her three kids, and eventually my step-dad's oldest daughter and her husband and two kids, all moved to where Mom and her husband lived. So Christmas again became full of people, and included little kids again, which is always the best. It became a holiday to look forward to once again.

Didn't Mom have the prettiest Christmas Village?

Mom and I grew closer over the years, becoming each other’s best friends even before her second husband died and she moved Gram in with her. Gram died four years ago, in September of 2009. In June of 2010, Mom was diagnosed with cancer and I moved back home to be with her. She didn’t make it and died just a couple of weeks short of the anniversary of her mom's death, so all my family is gone now. That first Christmas, I just moved back to Houston and ignored it. I couldn't endure even thinking about it.

But my oldest friends have made themselves my family, or have taken the next step in friendship that turned them from almost-family to full-family. Letitia, her husband, and their two kids have me over for Christmas Eve through the 26th. Marly has had me over for a weekend overnighter before or after. And Griffin and Sabine have given me a home since I returned to Seattle in April of this year. It's not at all the same as when I had my immediate and extended families; I am making new memories and traditions.

I still miss my immediate family. The pain of losing my dad subsided into a mild ache after about 10 years. The pain of losing my little brother simply became endurable: losing someone to suicide is different from most other losses. And I am still grieving my mom; sometimes the loss slices through me like a jagged blade. And I even miss my extended families, or at least the fun we would have as a large, crazy group.

I have many and varied memories about Christmas — happiness and gratitude even in the midst of sorrow. I feel very lucky, however, especially when my 15-year-old 'niece' asks me, “You are spending Christmas with us again, aren’t you?”

What is your favorite Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Solstice, Festivus, or alternate holiday memory?