"How was your Christmas?"
It must be the most asked question in the days following the beloved holy day. An inquiry so simple, so generic, it is akin to asking, "How are you doing?" But this year, it was a question I wanted to avoid. Telling the truth is more than most people want to hear, and to say what most people expect to hear feels like a betrayal to myself.
Looking back now, I can say in all honesty, "It was good." However, remembering the emotions that I felt this Christmas, the holiday will go down as one of the most difficult of recent days.
This was an even year, 2012. On even years the kids are to be with their dad on Christmas. This, I had no choice in the matter. I never would have dreamed in the years of building my family that in the growing up years, I would spend every other Christmas without my children. It isn't natural....it isn't right.
After two-and-a-half months of not seeing their dad, though, they were ready to go (and with the full moon just around the corner, I'll admit, I was ready to send them). I thought I was doing such a good job of tricking my mind into thinking that our Christmas was just taking place on another day this year, after all, Christmas isn't just a day, it's a season, right? So after their school Christmas program, I cheerfully kissed them goodbye and sent them on their merry way.
The next day, I got out of bed just long enough to take some non-aspirin for a splitting headache and drink some 7-up to help the symptoms of an unexpected stomach flu. My plans to clean the heck out of my house had to be delayed. I had been around sick kids in the classroom for months now and was able to stay healthy, so I wasn't surprised that at its first opportunity, my immune system decided to take a break from all its hard work.
The next day, Saturday, I was privileged to be able to help several others decorate the church for the up-coming holy day. It took most of the day and was a great distraction from my
I had a good time the next day watching the Seahawks beat the 49ers. My dad was at home by himself with a pot of homemade bean and ham soup. I showed up for dinner just as the game began. Now, my dad isn't even a football fan, but this game had him yelling/cheering at the TV with the rest of us fans watching the game in the dry comfort of our living rooms.
Christmas Eve came quickly and I found myself, as I always do, no matter how earnestly I promise myself I won't ever do it again... at the mall. Maybe it was the fact that I could take my time and didn't have to worry about losing anyone, or maybe it was the distraction aspect, but I actually enjoyed it.
That evening, I had dinner with the priest and nuns of St. Mary's who have become some pretty amazing friends of mine. We enjoyed a homemade meal and watched the musical Scrooge. It was an evening of fun and laughter and before I knew it, it was time to head home and get ready for Midnight Mass. I had tried to reach the kids by phone several times throughout the day but it was to no avail. In fact, it was only after several days of many texts that I heard that they had made it safely over the snowy pass to Spokane where they were spending the holiday at their grandmother's house.
The fact that I couldn't even talk to them before bed that night was like a domino set in motion. I left my quiet house at 11:00 pm on Christmas Eve and three minutes into my nine minute drive to the church, the tears that had been welling up inside let loose. I ugly cried for the next six minutes until I reached the church parking lot. I begged God to help me pull myself together so nobody would ask me if I was okay....once those words are spoken, it's all over from there.
I managed to wipe away the tears and make it to my seat without making eye contact with anybody. First, however, I snuck up to the choir loft and borrowed a huge wad of Kleenex. I sat all the way up front, so nobody could see my face, and, as far as I know, nobody knew that I cried halfway through Mass. Before the carols began, I lit five candles by the Nativity scene, one for each of my children. Seeing those candles lit, I felt as though they were there with me in spirit.
My heart was heaviest after four unanswered calls to the kids Christmas morning. Finally, when I had just about given up, I received a call from them. On hearing that they didn't get to celebrate Christ's birth by being near him at Mass my heart nearly broke. I held back tears until I had wished the last one, Cecelia, a Merry Christmas. With the floodgates near bursting, I asked her what she got, told her I missed her and listened as she asked how many more sleeps until she gets to come home. As the phone call ended, the tears fell uncontrollably and I didn't know how I could make it to breakfast at my parents house without being a complete downer.
The truth is, I couldn't. As soon as I walked in the house all the hurt I tried to hide swelled to the surface and overflowed. I took comfort in the arms of my grandmother and mother who understood the tears without any spoken words.
Through the heartache that accompanied me this Christmas, there were a lot of highlights that couldn't have happened had I had the kids with me, and for those I am truly grateful. The opportunity to see Les Miserables with my sister on Christmas was a memory I will treasure always, as well as an invitation to a couple of games of evening bowling from an intuitive friend who sensed my hidden sorrows. Game Night at my (clean) house was a fun way to carry Christmas through the season that it is meant to be.
My "Christmas" with the kids was held on the evening of the 29th of December. It began by placing Jesus in his manger and singing a few carols. It ended with a once clean living room hidden under a mountain of wrapping paper. I welcomed the kids home with a light heart as I bid farewell to neatness.
As to "How was my Christmas?" Since, in my heart, it is still ongoing, I must say it has been wonderful. It had its 'moments', for sure, but that's life....that's my life, and I am learning little by little to adjust. A Blessed Christmas season to all of you,
With love,
Gina.
