So this is Christmas.

It's late on Christmas night. All are sleeping. I'm thinking of Christmases past.

Wrapping presents with my mom.
Coming home to my dad's after Christmas Eve at with my mom's family, my dad has midnight mass on the television, and my brother and I convince my dad to open presents before Christmas morning.
The cat playing inside the tree and having it come crashing down.
My brother and I finding the hiding spot in the front closet for all the presents.
Avoiding my drunk uncle on Christmas eve.
Faint memories of a Santa showing up for a visit at grandma's apartment.
My aunt's beautiful joy filled smile, hugging me and always calling me honey.
My cousins matching Christmas sweaters.
My brother sick on the couch on Christmas eve.
My dad's side of the family filling up the twenty foot table set up in the basement.
My uncle teasing my dad as he walks in the door.
My grandma taking the turkey out of the oven in the basement, because the oven upstairs is full.
The candy dish full of ribbon and pillow shaped candies.
Kenny.
Merlin.

My brother calling at the last minute to say he's in Vegas instead.
Road trip to Fond du Lac.
Watching Owen share stockings with the cousins.
Grandma's Christmas crowns and crackers.
The ice storm brings everyone to us.
The last Christmas with Grandma before Arizona.
Another Christmas without my brother.
Another Christmas without my dad.
Another Christmas without my mom.
Complaints about gifts.
No gifts.
No phone calls.
My family.
My in-laws.
My children.
My husband.
My new Christmas.

Each Christmas brings back old memories, old expectations, old disappointments, old joys.
Each Christmas brings new memories, new expectations, new disappointments, new joys.

My struggle is to put all of these together, make sense of them all. To be grateful for all of it. For the old to stay in the past, to realize that is where I came from. Not where I am today.

To make the new Christmas memories matter just as much as the past. Know that the people I celebrate with today are my family, to not feel apart from or different. To be myself and enjoy the here and now.

Here's to trying!

Merry Christmas.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Letter to Dermot

Image
"Letter to Dermot" Dermot, I’ve been trying to put off this letter for quite some time. I just gave birth to your little brother and have realized how heartbroken I am over you. I look at pictures of you and get a tinge of sadness where I should get joy. I see the things you cannot do and the things you won’t be able to do. I’m so sad about it. I feel responsible, so much more than anyone else knows. I look back on the day you had your first seizure and I’m so angry with myself that I didn’t know what was happening. I feel like the length of time was my fault and that it caused more damage to your brain than was necessary. I’m so sorry. I know that you deserve the best in everything for your life and my regrets run deep. God has a plan for our family, I know. All of the challenges that you go through help make us stronger, but I wish more than anything that I could take all the pain away, all of the drugs, all of the therapy. I sometimes imagine you as a normal little guy get...
Read more

Fourth time

Just as I crossed the last thing off my grocery list, I heard a muffled chime from my purse. I thought to myself, I wonder if its Dermot's school. Not really believing it was, but teacher Jan was on the other end of the line. "Hi Sue, Laurie has administered the Diastat for Dermot", she said with a tinge of sadness in her voice. "Okay, I'll be right there" I said. I looked down at my full cart of much needed groceries and pushed them to the register. One part of me wanted to continue and check out as if nothing was happening, the other, wiser part said "get the hell out of here". Another abadoned cart at the grocery store. This time I call Joe, "I'll meet you there" he says. Three stoplights later and a quick jaunt on the highway and I'm there. Wiped the tears away and ask the receptionist for admittance to the special education wing of the school. I walk briskly to Dermot's classroom. The other little boys are having circle...
Read more

Profoundly

I've written many essays in my head. There's the one about being embarrassed by Dermot throwing up in the hospital cafeteria, or the one about friends and how they've changed over the years, or the story about the man I met at the hospital with the nineteen year old son with Dermot-like disabilities or my favorite, the way I use chocolate chip cookies as therapy. I sit in waiting rooms and write in my head, by the time I get home the details are lost or the energy has left me. I sit awake in bed staring at the ceiling knowing what I want to write, then I get out of bed, start up the computer and my words have left my head. I've been struck by how profoundly sad I am. I am really sad. The challenges keep coming, changing. I've learned many coping mechanisms, I've found a higher power to run the show, I seek out help from support groups and therapists, I volunteer to help others. All of these things make me feel better, but to my bitter disappointment, they do...
Read more