Growing up, my favorite time of the year was not a particular season but rather a time period: the fourth week of November through the 22nd of January. In my eyes, it was a holiday trifecta plus one. Starting with Thanksgiving, we moved onto to Christmas, then New Year’s Eve, followed by the pièce de résistance – my birthday. At the centerpiece of all of these special days was one key ingredient – family.
My earliest recollections, I remember family celebrations for each of these days. While my grandmother on my father’s side (I only grew up knowing one of my four possible grandparents.) was alive, I remember all of us – uncles, aunts, great aunts, great uncles, cousins, cousins, and more cousins, piling into the house she shared with my Uncle Bob – a house that was built for her by all of her sons and grandsons. I remember food – lots of it – and lots of laughter and talking. I spent hours playing with my cousins – a welcomed treat for someone who was an only child. One special memory I recall is playing “Charlie’s Angels” with a group of my female cousins. At the time and being the youngest, I did not have much of a choice or say in the roles that were given – a small taste of what it was like to actually have siblings. I was assigned to play “Sabrina” which at the time was not appealing as the Kate Jackson character from my small child perspective was not as glamorous as the other two roles. I distinctly remember one holiday where my older cousins developed this story plot of a wicked milkman nemesis who left green milk bottles for his victims. They all started to believe their narrative so much that it became real and “Sabrina” (aka Carol) had to go outside the door where the milkman was waiting to see if he was really there. Wait … what??!!! Yes, of course, the youngest was made the sacrificial, red shirt wearing, lamb. To this day I still remember slowing peering out from the bedroom door and tiptoeing outside and being greeted by several puzzled glances from the adults in the room in regards to my strange behavior. However, I calmly went back into the bedroom and announced bravely, “He’s not there!”.
Once my grandmother passed away, many of my dad’s brothers’ families started to have their own celebrations. However, a smaller sect of us still got together. Thanksgiving was celebrated at my Uncle Ed and Aunt Lucille’s. I remember the car ride to Kankakee, IL – following all sorts of curves and country roads. The most special of those memories of those time – while looking out of the car window – was seeing the signs of a first snow and snow flurries lightly bouncing in the wind. I loved my Uncle Ed’s house because they had two things: an organ and a fireplace. Those two things occupied most of my time during the adult conversation, football, and food that filled the entire day.
Christmas was not just one day but an entire season, in and of itself. I remember the cookie baking, delivering cookies to all the neighbors, and lots of family. Christmas Eve was usually spent with my mom’s side of the family – with lots of cousins who were my age – and Christmas Day with my dad’s side. While gifts were nice, I remember more fondly the laughter, the fun, and the love that enveloped us. I do remember the magic of Christmas morning and seeing all the treasures that “Santa” had brought. It was a miracle; miracles really did exist! I had lots of trauma growing up – and the sordid details are not important – but these “miracles” made me believe that things could be and would get better.
New Year’s Eve brought together a different kind of family – our neighbors. While growing up in the country on a farm (yes, you read that right – this now city girl grew up on a farm), neighbors weren’t exactly next door but our hearts were connected as we were. Each New Year’s Eve, my parents hosted a party and invited our neighbors. I remember more laughter and conversation and hours and hours of playing Uno, waiting in anticipation of the countdown with Dick Clark to a new year and new possibilities.
And finally, my birthday! Many years, it was a “snow day” and that meant a holiday off of school and mounds of snow to play in. But most importantly, once the snow had been cleared, I remember the family dinners where all of those near and dear to my heart came to my house to celebrate with me. And again … lots of laughter and lots of love.
Then, two major changes occurred: I made the move to California for a teaching job in 1990 and the avalanche of loss began. Loss – so much loss! The distance made these losses both easier and yet harder to bear. Several aunts and uncles passed away … my parents … dear friends and neighbors. A close friend of mine, here, in California, was brutally taken away. For about a decade, it was like the cartoon that depicts a small snow ball rolling down the side of a mountain, picking up speed in its descent and picking up small items and cartoon characters as well – whatever fell into its path. So much loss has left me numb. And, I say this not for pity but just for a check of reality. Going into this life, it was the cards that I was dealt. I knew that having older parents and being an only child, being alone at some point in my life would become my destiny. I would not be an orphan but become one. The reality is that I was never going to be ready when it actually happened.
When I was first married and the kids were young, I had sparks that some of these bruises and bumps would be forgotten – but then divorce stepped in and the kids grew up. And sadly, reality of split holidays and time had to step in.
And now today … these holidays have become bittersweet. I have had many wonderful opportunities and invites to join friends in these celebrations; I celebrate with my kids on different days and in different places. And, I do appreciate all of this – I truly do. However, there is a piece of me that misses the trifecta plus one of the past. And, nothing can really replace it. I wish for a time machine that could transport me back – even for just a few hours – to one of those special memories. I’d even agree to play “Sabrina” again or even lose at a few rounds of Uno. But, alas, time stops for no one.
So, yes this is the “Most Wonderful Time of the Year” but I dearly miss many of those who have passed on helped define my “wonderful”.
Two freeways diverged ... 