Christmas

As usual, the blog has a theme. Play the song, the video is all I could find of it on youtube. The song is however one of my absolute favorite Christmas songs, so play it as you read on.



It’s Christmas, and all I can think about is my father. I spent the night preparing for tomorrow. Matt’s family will descend upon us after their festivities with their significant other’s families. I love seeing the kids, and I enjoy the company of his sisters, but it’s just not the same. My brother’s kids never had to ask me what the crèche was, or why it was there. None of the kids tomorrow that come here under the age of 10 will have any idea who or what it is all about. Another Giftmas celebration. Admittedly I try to avoid these. For years I would go home for Christmas, to escape it, because I’d go to his parent’s house, or to his aunt’s house and I’d come home and cry myself to sleep. It didn’t feel like Christmas to me, it felt like I was missing out on being with my family, and I knew then there wasn’t enough Christmases in a lifetime to spend them like this.

I love his family, all of them, but a part of my heart breaks every Christmas. One sister claims to be Wiccan, another Pagan, and yet they put up a Christmas tree and celebrate…well Giftmas. It’s not Christmas, it has nothing to do with Jesus, but it’s some commercial gift giving thing that is done. His brother is at least honest enough to claim to be agnostic. He however and his family also celebrate Christmas. His significant other and he have 8 children, and are still unwed.

I get that the idea of Christmas sounds good, or something but…I so long for Christmases that are truly Christmas. I know I married a man that wasn’t Christian, and that I don’t expect him to celebrate Christmas, but I love Christmas, and all it stands for. I long for a Christmas with music and family after coming home from church. I miss sitting around with the family watching the Pope on TV after midnight Mass. I even miss that smell of the incense that they use on Christmas Day in the church. It smells different that day, I don’t know why, maybe it’s all the flowers in the church. I miss the feeling in the pit of my stomach as I try to hold off tears while my father stands beside me smiling as he sings the hymns. I miss the signs of peace when my father would hug me so tight the air would squish out of my lungs and he’d whisper in my ear, “Merry Christmas Anj.” Then wink at me with a crooked grin. I miss the sound of polkas streaming up through the house Christmas morning, and my father yelling, “Are you going to sleep all day or what here?” at 7:30 in the morning, when I’d only gone to bed an hour before. I miss coming downstairs in my pajamas, ok shorts and a tank top, and having him shake his head at me and tell me, “Go put some clothes on.” And I’d grin and wiggle my behind at him while I grabbed something to drink. If I was lucky I’d get out of the kitchen before he popped me on the rear for being sassy. I miss the smell of the iron as I ironed the tablecloths. He always put a bit of his cologne in the water. It made them smell so great. I miss watching my nephew open his gifts, wide eyed and wondrous as he opened a box of crayons. I swear you could give the kid a tree branch and he’d be overjoyed.

My nephew, Jonathan, is 12 years old now. I called to find out what he and Brittany, my niece, now 20 wanted for Christmas. Jonathan wanted some clothes. I asked what size. He said he wanted some shirts from Abercrombie and Fitch. I coughed. Due to the ice storm my two busiest weeks were cancelled. The shop had no power and it cut about $2000 out of my Christmas budget. That left me with nearly nothing, and it had to stretch far and wide. Abercrombie and Fitch was not gonna happen this year. I explained that to him. My brother makes a very fine living, so for him this is more than reasonable, but for me this year it just isn't going to happen. He said. “Oh…well can you make me a pillowcase this year?” I said of course! That’s tradition, and tradition trumps a budget any year, no matter what. I could hear him smile into the phone. “Ok well…when we come up can I sleep with Loki?” I laughed and said of course he could have a Pug to snooze with, two even. “Well that’s what I want for Christmas then. Oh and a hug, one of your hugs.” I could hear him nod. I hug like my father, we’re squeezers. I’m not going to bother with a pat you on the back hug. If I’m only comfortable enough to barely touch you I’ll shake your hand. If I’m going to hug you, I’m going to hug you. I’m not going to give you a pretend hug, that’s silly. Jon is still amazed by the fact I can sweep him easily off his feet while I hug him. As a last note, “Oh and can we play games too?” I said absolutely, what would it be if we didn’t play games? He repeated all of this to his mother in a single breath and shouted to me as he passed the phone that this is going to be just great! I love that kid. I keep telling my brother I’m going to steal him, he doesn’t believe me. He’s not perfect by any means, he’s a kid. To me however he is as perfect as they come.

He is delighted by the simple things in life, he sits up with me to watch the sunrise. He sits in my lap, a little human furnace, and we watch the sun come up whenever we’re together. He points out the things he finds amazing as we watch the scene created seemingly just for us. The colors, the way they blend, the way the sun sparkles in the ice on the trees, all of it he finds the same beauty I do. I treasure those moments. I store each and every one of them away. The first sunrise we shared was when he was not yet one. He woke up and I told his Mom I’d take care of him since I was walking through the living room they were in anyway. She got up of course, and the three of us stood by the window and watched the sun slowly climb over the giant pine tree in the front. Every year since we’ve shared a sunrise, and every year I’ve held him in my arms and smelled his hair while I held him close. His smile just lights up his whole face. As the sun reaches the top and is fully up I hug him tight and tell him I love him, and he spins and hugs me back and tells me he loves me too. He’s getting older now, so I’m not sure how many more sunrises we’ll get to share. I can only hope as he grows he still finds beauty and mystery in the mundane.

So tomorrow when the Christmas carols are turned off to turn on the television 2 minutes after everyone arrives, and I cringe, I’m going to try to remember that in 1 week and 1 day I’ll have my Christmas. I’ll get to hug my nephew and my niece, and my brother will start looking for things in my house that he can repair. (They don’t let the two of us go to Home Depot alone together, it’s just a bad idea, that’s how entire rooms get remodeled floor to ceiling.) We’ll play Trivial Pursuit, and Pictionary and my brother will draw a doodle and I’ll know exactly what it means, we’ll win Pictionary as usual and we’ll tell stories of the things we did as kids. We’ll spend the night laughing and that will be my Christmas. I wish my father was here to be a part of it. He could never draw worth beans. He’d draw these convoluted things that no one could ever figure out what in the world they were. He drew a tiger once that everyone thought was a porcupine. I saved it, put it in a photo album. Anyone that got the short straw was on his team. He was the worst Pictionary player ever. He swore it was not his fault, they just weren’t looking at it right.

To those that get to spend Christmas with their families, hold tight to these moments. Capture them and keep them forever in your hearts. Remember them years from now, and celebrate the birth of Jesus in the truest spirit. May he bless you and keep you all, and may this Christmas be truly merry for you and yours.