It’s that time again. The Christmas Season. When you’re little, the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas seems so long, the anticipation so great, the excitement so real. As I get older, the season takes on a more melancholy tone. Another year has gone by. I am melancholy because there are many people out there who are not having the kind of Christmas I usually have. They don’t have family or others nearby to chase away the loneliness or to give them the picture-perfect Christmas that Hallmark movies project. They may not be having a Christmas like those in their memories or those in their dreams.
We spend a lot of time – and probably money – trying to create or recreate a magical Christmas. It may be one we remember from our youth, one we have seen in movies, one we have always wanted to experience, or one attended by our loved ones, either past or present. Some may fantasize about a Christmas miracle or a holiday happy ending.
I am a very lucky person. My Christmases have, generally, been good ones. In 1979, however, I lost my maternal grandmother on Christmas Day. I know she was old – 87 – and sick – so I could somehow put that in the perspective of Nanny getting what she wanted for Christmas, peace. There were years when my husband was out of work, years when I was sick from pregnancy, years when I was sick at heart for one reason or another. But, overall, I have been very lucky.
Now, I am haunted by ghosts of Christmas, I think. Some are my own ghosts and some are really haunting thoughts of those who are not going to experience a merry Christmas. I mostly worry about those who are alone and those parents who cannot give gifts to their children in the name of Santa Claus. In my English classes, we are reading The Glass Castle, a memoir. Jeannette Walls, the author, states, “I never believed in Santa Claus. None of us kids did. Mom and Dad refused to let us. They couldn’t afford expensive presents, and they didn’t want us to think we weren’t as good as other kids who, on Christmas morning, found all sorts of fancy toys under the tree that were supposedly left by Santa Claus.” I recall conversations of past years, not specifics of who actually asked the question, but of the question being asked, “What did you get for Christmas?” Growing up, I had many toys and presents and could list things I got as well as the next guy. I recall as a young adult being asked the question, usually because someone wanted to know what a boyfriend got me, as if that was a measure of feelings. When I was first married, we couldn’t afford expensive presents on our meager salaries where most of what we earned went into a fund for a down payment on a house. Despite having loftier goals than huge Christmas gifts, the question still stung when asked by others who had gotten jewelry and other equally expensive gifts. It’s a funny thing when love is measured by material things and, even if that was not my unit of measure, I somehow felt “less than” others who had gotten things that I secretly wanted but knew we could never afford. It shouldn’t take away the luster of Christmas but it did sometimes. Just knowing that there would be those evaluative questions asked later was enough to make me hope for something that would show others that I was special, too. Ridiculous, I know, and I try never to measure myself using someone else’s ruler, but I am human and sometimes did. I can only imagine feeling like that as a child and, for that reason, I understand why Jeannette Walls was not allowed to believe.
Once I had children of my own, they became my Christmas. I remember those times when one of them really wanted a particular hard-to-get toy and my feelings of joy and anticipation when I found one. As a mother, Christmas was no longer about me, and it will never be again. One of the unanticipated joys of motherhood was truly getting my joy from seeing the look on my kids’ faces on Christmas morning. Of course, if they did not seem content with what Santa gave them, I would second-guess myself and feel let down. It is double-edged, I guess, when your joy comes from the joy you give others.
Of course, Christmas conjures up thoughts of Christmases past and loved ones gone from the Christmas celebration. We all know that things change and that is brought home to us at holidays when we look around to see different faces and absent faces. There are people who have left by death or desire, people you have nothing to say to, and people to whom there is nothing left to say. So many people are affected by loss and loneliness.
I am very fortunate to be where I am with loved ones to celebrate with. My heart cannot help but weep for those who are told by songs that Christmas is “the most wonderful time of the year,” yet they are just waiting for the day to be over and normalcy to return, whether that normalcy is work, regular television programming, or Facebook friends available to chat. My wish for Christmas is, as always, peace to others -whatever that means to them – and goodwill. I hope the weight of the holiday season is not too burdensome for some and that each and every one finds his or her own slice of contentment.
I don’t think it is unusual to feel a bit down over the holidays for any number of reasons: shopping, spending money, fatigue – or loneliness, loss, lack of a “family” in whatever form that takes. Sometimes the culprit is expectations, plain and simple. You expect Christmas to be a certain way and feel the pressure to realize that ideal, whether it is because you are providing Christmas to others, or you hope they will provide certain things to you.
Next up will be New Year’s Eve, a time I have always disliked. It has its own weighty attributes. A year is ending and a new one is beginning on the morrow. Sounds simple, right? If someone had a good year, they can look back and be thankful. If someone had a not-so-good year, perhaps looking forward is the hope they need. I am superstitious and I always feel a bit afraid of what might lie ahead so it is always with trepidation that I “celebrate” New Year’s Eve. That is the one day of the holiday season that I really tend to “wish away,” because it somehow always fills me with dread or fear or caution. I am not at all sure why I feel this way. I don’t recall a particularly bad New Year’s Eve in my life, and I may have looked forward to it at some point, but now I tend to want to pull the covers over my head and wake when it is over. There have been years I have been among a group of people, years I have spent at home with family, and a year or two spent all alone. I am glad when the hours tick away and New Year’s Eve yields to a new day and a new year.
And there you have my melancholy musings on the holiday season. Peace.
Recommended reading for everyone, I believe. The holidays are never easy, but then it seems to me that nothing is as easy as it was when we were young. I always thought that when I retired, life would become an easy pathway to walk down and reflect upon the beauty to the left and right. And once in a while to sit on a bench along the side of the path and reflect upon where we came from and where we’re going. I often think and over-think the journey I’m on instead of simply enjoying every step, every moment. It’s, I suppose, the philosophical challenge of seeing the glass half full or half empty. Christmas was always Xmas for me and my family. We didn’t really believe in the religious significance of the holiday. For us, it was more about family festivity to appreciate a year just past and all that happened in it. The New Year’s celebration would be a time to think forward about the plans and resolutions we would make to assure a better life for us and maybe others.
I don’t enjoy thinking about all the misery in the world because there’s just not much I can do about it. It’s overwhelming. I wish my temperament were more in line with charitable and maybe even completely pious people. But that’s not me. I’m generous and kind and pleased with who I am, but frustrated that my life is more than half over. Feelings of mortality are humbling to say the least. It must be wonderful to believe that a spiritual life continues after death. The birth of Jesus and the faith associated with his praise has changed the world’s thinking considerably in this regard. But frankly, I’m not sure I care that much about moving into the next realm after my demise. Instead, I’m willing to roll the dice and hope for the best. I’ll take my chances, as I always have done. I’m grateful for everything that’s happened to me during the last almost 70 years. So many wonderful experience and people. I’m happy to say goodbye when the time comes.
So your melancholy musings bring back a lot of my own memories about the happy and sad times associated with Christmas and all holidays or special occasions. The feelings seem to be derived from riding on the slow-moving roller coaster of life. Thanks, Diane, for sharing your feelings with all of us.
Merry Christmas!
Love, John
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your thoughts on this, especially your views on Christmas and the New Year’s celebration. I hope someday to think of New Year’s Eve in the same way.
I love both of your musings. I think mny of us share with so much of what was said—happy holidays/stressful and even sad ones.
There is so much anticipation/hype/pressure to make Christmas special and each one the best. Sometines it prevents us feom just enjoying!
Love to you both.
Thanks, Mare. Love to you too.
Having no “family” makes all holidays days to endure because I feel disenfranchised. At 68 I am of an age where both friends and friendships have died due to various causes. The losses have been painful and have made me quite wary of trying to develop new friendships. One can only withstand a finite amount of heartache in a lifetime. My experiences with “broken heart syndrome” have made that crystal clear to me. Stress can kill.
No matter our age when it occurs, becoming an orphan is hard. Others can empathize but cannot actually share our losses. That is the problem with losses – they remind us of how truly singular and alone we are as human beings. My friend who had been cancer-free for 12 years lost his mother last year after being there for her daily for years. This year he died of cancer. I can’t help but wonder if the cancer was a somatization of his heartache.
I designated this year to be a “fallow” year, a year of resting my soul’s soil. My only real goal was to knit for charity, a safe way to love others. But my year of rest is coming to an end. I know certain serious and stressful challenges are waiting for me to address them; something I do not want to do. I just may rest my soil until spring.
Resting your soil until you are ready to address the challenges may be best for you. You will be in my thoughts, as always.
I don’t know why I didn’t see this until now (thank you facebook for your random feed settings) but I thoroughly enjoyed reading it. Your writing (as always) is eloquent and thought provoking. The holiday season makes me reflective as well, and more cognizant of the woes of the world. I, as an individual, cannot do much to change the entire world, but I can change my little corner of it. The holiday season also makes me more kind and generous, maybe because I am a bit melancholy myself and looking for that “giving joy” high. I went to the grocery store today, and the homeless man who occasionally sits on the corner was there. Instead of the $1.00 I usually give him, I forked over a $10 spot. The look on his face and genuine “Thank you!” and “God bless” were worth a million.
Interesting that you still remember Christmas of 1979. I do too. I was at Ellen’s house, down in the basement playing pool with her sister-in-law Eileen when the call came about Nanny. I was 15 at the time, and the thing I remember most was that Christmas was never the same for my Dad after that. It got better over the years, but those first few after Nanny died were hard for him. Funny the things we remember so vividly. Dont’t get me wrong – most of my childhood memories are happy; but a few, like this one are not.
Ok, enough of that. I have rambled far too long. Thank you once again cuz, for your wonderful musings!
I actually just posted this the other day. I usually write something and let it sit for a bit while I re-read and make changes. I am so glad you enjoyed it. Wonderful story of you and the homeless man. I am so glad he appreciated your generosity! As for Christmas, 1979, I was at my sister’s on Holmdel Road and went to Bayshore Hospital because my mother was there with Nanny and I didn’t want her to be alone. Unbeknownst to me, Nanny had passed in the time it took me to get there and someone at Bayshore had to break the news to me. It was the same for my mom as for your dad – Christmas was never the same for her. She actually came home that day and took down the Christmas tree. As we know, the loss of our mother is different from other losses. Thanks for taking the time to respond to my musings. I really appreciate it. Merry Christmas to you, Pat, and the boys.
Merry Christmas to you too Diane!