Even with Traditions, It was a Bummer of a Christmas in More Ways than One

And it hit a new low two days later.

Christmas wasn’t the same this year. Not for anyone. But with a little ingenuity, my family held on to one tradition: Yankee Swap.

For those of you who aren’t familiar, it involves regifting something that’s been stored in the attic or basement, like that fruit cake that never seems to go bad.

The gifts are wrapped and placed in a pile. If you want to participate, you bring a gift, but no pressure. You then pick a number out of a hat or box. The first person goes first, unwraps a gift, and shows it to everyone.

The person who picks number two has the option of keeping what they choose or swapping with the first person. And so on down the line. After everyone has had a turn, the person who went first has their pick of everyone else’s gift.

As you might have guessed, going first is the best and second is the worst.

This year, we had a virtual Yankee Swap. Two of my sisters planned it and wrapped gifts. One numbered them, and the other lettered them.

Don’t ask.

“These are gifts you will never receive. We might even rewrap them next year,” the boss, my youngest sister, announced.

She then assigned the 12 of us numbers. And there was no arguing or negotiating. She and my other sister held up the gifts as we, the participants, tried to determine what they might be by the package's shape and size.

Although it was not as fun as in-person, it certainly made everyone laugh.

And that was the best gift of all: laughing with my family.

But one person was absent. My son. He is quite busy with kids and family and has only made it to one family zoom meeting since the onset of the pandemic. But he’d promised he’d join.

Bummer number one.

And come Christmas day, his gift had still not arrived.

Bummer number two.

He’d told me two weeks earlier it was on its way from Amazon. Well, maybe I could just blame them.

What else was new?

The Next Tradition

Thankfully, this tradition is an outdoor one.

Santa sits atop a fire engine decked out in his suit, his sleigh and a Rudolph leading the way, and drives through the streets for four hours wishing all a Merry Christmas.

Christmas Eve wouldn’t be well, Christmas Eve, without it.

I stood on the sidewalk surrounded by strangers, not my family, and waved. Children jumped excitedly as their parents laughed, enjoying the spectacle.

I felt a pang of longing for the past, a desire to be with my own grandchildren and my family.

When my son was young, this was the only night he would dash off to bed in fear that Santa would find him awake and pass by the house. I’d then go about strategically placing his gifts near the fireplace, filling the stockings, laying out cookies for Santa, and placing candy canes on the tree.

This year I headed back to my condo and two cats, poured a glass of wine that I drank alone, and clicked on the television.

Partial bummer. At least I’d seen Santa and had some wine.

And I didn’t hear from my son until two days after Christmas.

Little did I know that the biggest bummer was yet to come.

Sunday Surprise

I let the call go. There were still 15-minutes left to my Sunday church service. Figures he’d pick the only time I was busy to call.

I returned the call and was surprised he answered almost immediately. And a little nervously.

“Hi, mom. Sorry about the zoom meeting. Things got crazy with the kids and by the time I looked at the clock, it was too late. I was bummed.”

He was instantly forgiven, though I was no less disappointed.

He’d also taken time to check my gift status and was not pleased to learn it had been delayed. It was encouraging.

“And Amazon Prime isn’t cutting it this year. I paid extra and they’re still late. But it’s coming.”

“No problem. It’s good to hear from you.”

“Umm. Don’t freak out. I have something to tell you.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t freak out.”

“WHAT!”

Pause.

“We have COVID.” We meant him, his wife, and his two children.

“WHAT? OMG!”

“I said not to freak out. We’re fine. I have a sore throat, my chest feels a little funny, like I have a cold, that’s all.”

“Well, ya. But it can start like that and get worse.”

“It won’t,” he replied. “We’ll be fine.”

Famous last words.

“How are the kids? How is Shae (his wife)?”

“The kids have runny noses. Shae says she feels like, well, when you stand on a boat. Her equilibrium is a little off. But what is really bad is that they didn’t call us. We found out at Christmas dinner she was positive. And it was an e-mail, no phone call. They’d had the results for four days.”

“At dinner?”

“Ya!”

Bummer number one for him, but it trumped mine.

He told me that they had everything they needed to quarantine, how it had happened. Shae got it at work from a co-worker who got it from her husband, a State Trooper.

When the co-worker was diagnosed, everyone was sent home. But the damage was done.

“What concerns me most,” he added, “is Ned.” Ned is his brother who lives in the basement apartment and has Type I Diabetes. “But I am fine.”

I choked out an “okay,” and we talked for an hour.

Hitting Home

My son and his wife are in their 30’s and chances are they will be fine.

Chances.

But how many young, healthy people have been taken down by this virus? How many have lived but will have complications for the rest of their lives?

And will Ned, only in his 20s, become ill?

I’ve known people who have had COVID, and I know of people who have died. But this is the only immediate family member who has tested positive. And my son was careful.

The sirens for battle stations are blaring in my ears. Now I wait. Time will either be a foe or an ally.

I am helpless.

I can’t find the words. Or thoughts.

Our call ended on a positive note.

“Now I won’t have to get the vaccine, I think. I don’t want it. So that’s one good thing about this.”

I agreed. The vaccine is new and new things often have negative effects that don’t come out for years.

The only good thing will be if this thing, this COVID, leaves as quietly as it arrived, and my son and his family recover their former health.

It was a COVID Christmas, in practice and in reality. We’ve all social-distanced, gathered outside, only, during the summer, and celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas in isolation.

Today he said he felt better, but it’s too early to tell.

So all I can do is wait.

And try to be optimistic, though betting on COVID going away is a hand many have lost.

For now, I’ll look forward to a new year.

The Happy is still up in the air.