For the past several years I have spent most Thanksgivings and many other holidays with my friend Rachel and her family in Mt. Kisco, NY (Westchester County). I have been invited for Christmas numerous times but have always declined. I just couldn't fathom the idea of trying to fit into another family's rituals and traditions. Not that I never felt welcomed-- quite the opposite. But Christmas was always such a special time for Mom, and it hasn't been right since she died. Up to that point, I could count on one hand the number of times I had been away from Mom and Dad for the holidays.
Seven years ago was the first Christmas after Grandma died, and I knew that was going to be a hard one for Mom, so I made a point of being home. It was a sad year.
Six years ago, Mom had not been well, and she asked that Matt and I both make sure to be there-- I think she knew it might be her last. On Christmas morning, after we went through our traditional Christmas morning rituals (the number of gifts we all always had was borderline obscene), Mom sat us down on the floor and she went through her hope chest, explaining the significance of everything to us, and passing along mementos of her life: Grandmas's wedding night nightgown, baby booties, childhood toys, photos, artwork, family bibles, books, grandpa's wallet and railroader emblems. It was hard to sit and participate in this, but it was something she clearly needed to do. She died 1 month later.
Five years ago was the first Christmas after (and close to a year since) Mom died. That year it was all about being there to make the void feel less intense for each other. We tried to do everything the way Mom used to, but it was "off."
I think I've been home once since then, for our first family Christmas with Lynne, a.k.a. "Cousi-Mom" (that's another posting...) in the family. It was nice, but somewhere in there I realized that Christmas seemed to have lost a lot of its meaning for me since Mom was gone and my ex and I had split up. I have often found myself saying that maybe next year I will have Christmas back-- will have a reason to want to do it up again.
This year I found myself a little closer, but I didn't want to get caught up in the rat race. In what can only be described as a serendipitous turn of events, the whole family (Dad and Cousi-Mom, Grandma, Matt, and I) all decided to forego gifts this year and instead pool our money to give to a needy family. It felt right, and really eased the pressure.
Then when my annual invitation came from Rachel and her family, I think I surprised everyone, including myself, by accepting. When I am with them, I often finding myelf remarking how much they remind me of my own family. I think Mom and Rachel's mom Lynne would have really gotten along well, and Rachel's dad Peter reminds me of Dad, in humor if not in poilitics. The sibling dynamic consists of a lot of playful teasing, but their love for each other is never in question. A recurring playful line was "You ruined Christmas"-- ironic in that it highlights the pressure on families to make everything perfect when none of us are, yet the simple fact that everyone was together makes it perfect in every way-- and that can't be ruined.
The afternoon was spent playing games-- Pictionary in particular. In an interesting twist, their family makes up their own phrases to draw instead of using the cards. In another point of remarkable similarity to my family, the phrases tended to revolve around bodily functions-- imagine the laughter in watching your sisters draw anal leakage, diarrhea, booger eater, and the like.
Seven years ago was the first Christmas after Grandma died, and I knew that was going to be a hard one for Mom, so I made a point of being home. It was a sad year.
Six years ago, Mom had not been well, and she asked that Matt and I both make sure to be there-- I think she knew it might be her last. On Christmas morning, after we went through our traditional Christmas morning rituals (the number of gifts we all always had was borderline obscene), Mom sat us down on the floor and she went through her hope chest, explaining the significance of everything to us, and passing along mementos of her life: Grandmas's wedding night nightgown, baby booties, childhood toys, photos, artwork, family bibles, books, grandpa's wallet and railroader emblems. It was hard to sit and participate in this, but it was something she clearly needed to do. She died 1 month later.
Five years ago was the first Christmas after (and close to a year since) Mom died. That year it was all about being there to make the void feel less intense for each other. We tried to do everything the way Mom used to, but it was "off."
I think I've been home once since then, for our first family Christmas with Lynne, a.k.a. "Cousi-Mom" (that's another posting...) in the family. It was nice, but somewhere in there I realized that Christmas seemed to have lost a lot of its meaning for me since Mom was gone and my ex and I had split up. I have often found myself saying that maybe next year I will have Christmas back-- will have a reason to want to do it up again.
This year I found myself a little closer, but I didn't want to get caught up in the rat race. In what can only be described as a serendipitous turn of events, the whole family (Dad and Cousi-Mom, Grandma, Matt, and I) all decided to forego gifts this year and instead pool our money to give to a needy family. It felt right, and really eased the pressure.
Then when my annual invitation came from Rachel and her family, I think I surprised everyone, including myself, by accepting. When I am with them, I often finding myelf remarking how much they remind me of my own family. I think Mom and Rachel's mom Lynne would have really gotten along well, and Rachel's dad Peter reminds me of Dad, in humor if not in poilitics. The sibling dynamic consists of a lot of playful teasing, but their love for each other is never in question. A recurring playful line was "You ruined Christmas"-- ironic in that it highlights the pressure on families to make everything perfect when none of us are, yet the simple fact that everyone was together makes it perfect in every way-- and that can't be ruined.
The afternoon was spent playing games-- Pictionary in particular. In an interesting twist, their family makes up their own phrases to draw instead of using the cards. In another point of remarkable similarity to my family, the phrases tended to revolve around bodily functions-- imagine the laughter in watching your sisters draw anal leakage, diarrhea, booger eater, and the like.
Then it happened.
Earlier in the week I had jabbed myself in the thumb with a screwdriver. It didn't seem like a big deal, but on Sunday afternoon, while the closest thing to a happy, traditional family Christmas I had had in 8 years was taking form, my arm started to feel tingly and sore, and my thumb started throbbing. When I pulled up my sleave to look, I could see streaks of red shooting up my arm. I could actually follow the veins in my arm up from my hand as far up as my elbow. I figured that wasn't good.
After a traditional Italian Christmas Eve dinner of 7 types of fish, I pulled Rachel aside and told her that I was going to need her to take me to the hospital after all the evenings festivities were over. She wanted to do it then, but I knew that even in the best of circumstances, there is no such thing as a quick trip to the ER.
During the exchanging of gifts, lots of laughter was shared with we all opened our bags of coal with messages like, "Jerk!" and "Sorry your family are such jerks!" and my favorite, given to me "Maybe next year, Dorothy!" And there were tears when Rachel's grandmother saw the beautifully framed "old" photos of herself and her late husband that Rachel's sister Christina gave to Lynn. It was perfect, and so moving. As Truvy says in Steel Magnolias, "Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion."
Rachel and her brother Richard drove me to the hospital after all the gifts were opened and things were winding down. She was intrigued by the the huge fish tank in the waiting room. I said, "Rachel, back away from the fish tank-- It's Chrismas Eve, and you're Italian. You're scaring the fish!" I thought it was funny at the time...
I was called in by the triage nurse, and she proceeded to scold me for not coming in immediately when I noticed the red streaking up my arm. I told her I didn't want to ruin Christmas... Again, I thought I was pretty funny, even though I was serious. I had a fever and my BP was up (I'm convinced it was because she was mean to me) and they rushed me back so I could (wait for it... wait for it...) WAIT! I lay there and waited and observed an exercise in ineffeciency that really worked my nerves.
It wouldn't have been so bad, except I was in Curtain 6 (curtain meaning: no privacy). Not that I needed any embarrasing procedures, but I was privy to WAY too much information about the old guy in Curtain 5-- "he's breaking a lot of wind, but hasn't had a good crap in 3 days" -- and his annoying loud obnoxious Italian New York ice-chewing son who was strutting the halls flirting with everything with two boobs. (I felt slightly bad when he offered me some gingerale later- I guess I looked sick.) When the doctor came down to examine the old guy, they decided to do a rectal. I mercifully couldn't see anyting, but I could hear as "Mrs. Old Guy" assured her husband that if he felt anyone feeling around "back there" it was just the doctor doing a rectal. And I knew when it happend, because the doctor announced that the patient was not, in actuality, impacted. What a relief!
Meanwhile, on the other side in Curtain 7, a teenaged girl who was being ruled out for meningitis (great night I picked to be in the ER) was complaining about her pain. Nurse Rached (from triage) finally told the mother that she had had the max pain meds and that the only way she could get any relief was if she would let her (wait for it... wait for it...) do a rectal. Good GAWD! I didn't realize there was actually medical benefit to it! Was this some sort of sick revenge on the part of the hospital staff that were forced to work the overnight Christmas Eve-Christmas Morning shift?! Were all patients going to be getting rectals? By this point, I had had my blood drawn by the nice Jamaican phlebotomist, gotten my tetanus shot, and had my line started connecting me to the IV antobiotics, so there was no escape. I waited... and wondered.
After being virtually ignored for 3 hours, I guess they needed the bed so I was suddenly handed a few prescriptions, rushed out the door, and headed home to the Hertel house (with my virtue intact, incidentally.)
Christmas morning was nice. Brunch at Rachel's aunt and uncle's house, then back for more food and drink and boardgames. I won Trivial Pursuit 80s Edition, thanks to a few lucky "sports" questions that dealt more with Hubba Bubba and Ms. Pac Man.
Rachel dropped me at home, and I watched "The Polar Express" (loved it) before crashing into bed.
All things considered, I had a wonderful Christmas.
I thought about Mom every single minute! But spending these two days with the Hertels, a family that reminds me so much of my own, also made me think about Dad and Matt and Grandma and Lynne too. It was nice.
And, despite spending the night in the ER, I truly enjoyed Christmas for the first since before Grandma B and Mom died.
Earlier in the week I had jabbed myself in the thumb with a screwdriver. It didn't seem like a big deal, but on Sunday afternoon, while the closest thing to a happy, traditional family Christmas I had had in 8 years was taking form, my arm started to feel tingly and sore, and my thumb started throbbing. When I pulled up my sleave to look, I could see streaks of red shooting up my arm. I could actually follow the veins in my arm up from my hand as far up as my elbow. I figured that wasn't good.
After a traditional Italian Christmas Eve dinner of 7 types of fish, I pulled Rachel aside and told her that I was going to need her to take me to the hospital after all the evenings festivities were over. She wanted to do it then, but I knew that even in the best of circumstances, there is no such thing as a quick trip to the ER.
During the exchanging of gifts, lots of laughter was shared with we all opened our bags of coal with messages like, "Jerk!" and "Sorry your family are such jerks!" and my favorite, given to me "Maybe next year, Dorothy!" And there were tears when Rachel's grandmother saw the beautifully framed "old" photos of herself and her late husband that Rachel's sister Christina gave to Lynn. It was perfect, and so moving. As Truvy says in Steel Magnolias, "Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion."
Rachel and her brother Richard drove me to the hospital after all the gifts were opened and things were winding down. She was intrigued by the the huge fish tank in the waiting room. I said, "Rachel, back away from the fish tank-- It's Chrismas Eve, and you're Italian. You're scaring the fish!" I thought it was funny at the time...
I was called in by the triage nurse, and she proceeded to scold me for not coming in immediately when I noticed the red streaking up my arm. I told her I didn't want to ruin Christmas... Again, I thought I was pretty funny, even though I was serious. I had a fever and my BP was up (I'm convinced it was because she was mean to me) and they rushed me back so I could (wait for it... wait for it...) WAIT! I lay there and waited and observed an exercise in ineffeciency that really worked my nerves.
It wouldn't have been so bad, except I was in Curtain 6 (curtain meaning: no privacy). Not that I needed any embarrasing procedures, but I was privy to WAY too much information about the old guy in Curtain 5-- "he's breaking a lot of wind, but hasn't had a good crap in 3 days" -- and his annoying loud obnoxious Italian New York ice-chewing son who was strutting the halls flirting with everything with two boobs. (I felt slightly bad when he offered me some gingerale later- I guess I looked sick.) When the doctor came down to examine the old guy, they decided to do a rectal. I mercifully couldn't see anyting, but I could hear as "Mrs. Old Guy" assured her husband that if he felt anyone feeling around "back there" it was just the doctor doing a rectal. And I knew when it happend, because the doctor announced that the patient was not, in actuality, impacted. What a relief!
Meanwhile, on the other side in Curtain 7, a teenaged girl who was being ruled out for meningitis (great night I picked to be in the ER) was complaining about her pain. Nurse Rached (from triage) finally told the mother that she had had the max pain meds and that the only way she could get any relief was if she would let her (wait for it... wait for it...) do a rectal. Good GAWD! I didn't realize there was actually medical benefit to it! Was this some sort of sick revenge on the part of the hospital staff that were forced to work the overnight Christmas Eve-Christmas Morning shift?! Were all patients going to be getting rectals? By this point, I had had my blood drawn by the nice Jamaican phlebotomist, gotten my tetanus shot, and had my line started connecting me to the IV antobiotics, so there was no escape. I waited... and wondered.
After being virtually ignored for 3 hours, I guess they needed the bed so I was suddenly handed a few prescriptions, rushed out the door, and headed home to the Hertel house (with my virtue intact, incidentally.)
Christmas morning was nice. Brunch at Rachel's aunt and uncle's house, then back for more food and drink and boardgames. I won Trivial Pursuit 80s Edition, thanks to a few lucky "sports" questions that dealt more with Hubba Bubba and Ms. Pac Man.
Rachel dropped me at home, and I watched "The Polar Express" (loved it) before crashing into bed.
All things considered, I had a wonderful Christmas.
I thought about Mom every single minute! But spending these two days with the Hertels, a family that reminds me so much of my own, also made me think about Dad and Matt and Grandma and Lynne too. It was nice.
And, despite spending the night in the ER, I truly enjoyed Christmas for the first since before Grandma B and Mom died.
2 comments:
Jon,
Thank you for the "laughter through tears." This was a very touching entry. I share many of your feelings toward Christmas. I am glad you had finally had a reminder of how special the holidays can be.
Your Brother,
Matthew xoxoxo
If anyone knows how I feel, you do...
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