Holiday Cheers, Holiday Tears

Come December and I remember every Christmas I’ve known

Prompt: As we get closer to the holidays, is there anything that is hard or difficult?

A Child’s Christmas

It is said that Christmas is a child’s holiday — a holiday that delights every child. I was no exception.

Growing up in the Bronx, I enjoyed nothing better than Christmas — not even summer vacation. There was something special about the holiday season, especially after a dreary November that followed a fun Halloween. I should add that we weren’t even Christian — except for Mom who was baptized as a Catholic.

Whenever she pulled the plastic tree from the closet and began decorating it sometime around the second week of December, my mood would brighten. That’s when Dad would pull out The Nutcracker Suite and play it on my child’s record player. And as snow began to fall, I would feel even more thrilled. Ah, what would I get this year? Would it be the doll I had been hankering for since the beginning of school? A new dress? And yes, no school for two weeks — yay!

But it wasn’t just about the gifts and vacation. It was about the forays into Manhattan with the lights and decorations. The crowded skating rink at the Rockefeller Plaza. The Empire State Building. Even Chinatown had a different, more festive buzz. Somehow, everyone looked happier too as I watched other children with their parents gazing eagerly at the displays in the store windows. I too felt wonder, wishing it would never end.

It was about the gatherings and family-get-togethers too. How I enjoyed it when Dad invited his fifty or so colleagues and students to our tiny apartment — in addition to his cousins and their families. There is a Taiwanese word for it, lau-zeg (emphasis on the second syllable) that is roughly equivalent to the more, the merrier. Then a few days later, we would attend the Taiwanese Association parties at Columbia and NYU. Then another party, this time at one of the cousins’ apartment — followed by a trip to a shopping mall across the river in Teaneck, New Jersey.

But perhaps my favorite and most memorable childhood Christmas was the time when one of Dad’s friends brought his family over for two weeks. I was only six then — and was never so ecstatic since they had two children around my age, one a year older, and the other a year younger. We played all day with nary a fight while the grown-ups were busy stringing Japanese fish roe cakes (oichi) across the ceiling. (Mom and I would laugh at this absurdity years later.) And how fun it was at night to share the living room sofa bed with my parents even with those cakes dangling above us like so many Christmas ornaments.

Although there were fewer festivities over the years as our various families moved out of New York at different times, we still enjoyed Christmas with other relatives through my early adulthood. It was a time for everyone to get together and marvel over how the “kids” had grown up over the years, from pre-school through graduate school and embarking on their careers.

Our move back to the east coast meant there were virtually no more large get-togethers — apart from the ones my parents attended with a local Taiwanese association. And yet, we savored our holidays as much — even if more muted. Mom and I still liked preparing meals. Sometimes she’d prepare a turkey or chicken and at other times I’d prepare the roast brisket I’ve discussed here. Mom would do her usual stir-fried green beans too which I wasn’t too crazy about. Whatever we made, however, the one mainstay was Mom’s special sticky rice with its bits of pork, mushrooms, and shredded carrots: no special occasion ever felt complete without this dish.

And then there were…

But in 2014, that changed. Mom had finally succumbed to her cancer in early October, so I celebrated Christmas with Dad in our kitchen — that is, if you want to call it a celebration. What a change it was from the previous years when we ate off our pretty china in the dining room — and Charlie roamed from person to person, begging for turkey.

Sure, I still made the roast beef and potatoes just like the previous year. And I had bought a beautifully decorated cake. But the table was missing Mom’s special sticky rice. And although I was never crazy about her stir-fried green beans, I found myself almost longing to smell them again.

Not to mention, of course, that her usual spot at the kitchen table, right in front of the fridge, seemed especially empty — despite the fact that I had grown somewhat accustomed to that space over the last two months. I thought of Tennyson’s In Memoriam, where he wrote of the loss of a best friend:

The yule-log sparkled keen with frost, No wing of wind the region swept, But over all things brooding slept The quiet sense of something lost.

And I thought of Elvis’ Blue Christmas too— the blue snowflakes, blue memories even with the red decorations on a green tree. Because Christmas simply was not the same without Mom.

Even in 2018, when I celebrated Christmas with Dad at his rehab facility, the sight of all of the happy families around us with parents and their adult children triggered thoughts of Mom all over again — and how I wished she were still around.

There I sat, trying to choke back a sob as the piped-in music played that Judy Garland classic from Meet Me in St. Louis, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” I thought of the last time I had watched the movie with Mom. Yes, those were happy, golden days. I couldn’t help but recall the original, sadder lyrics that Judy refused to sing because she thought they were too depressing to sing to a young girl: something about that Christmas being possibly the last. I thought of the other lines that made it through at the insistence of the lyricist, Hugh Martin — that someday we will all be together if the fates permit. Until then, we will have to muddle through as we can — a line that was later replaced with a cheerier line by Frank Sinatra.

Little did I know that very Christmas would wind up being the last Christmas with Dad as he passed away three months later. So even though I was relieved and delighted that I had finally completed my book at the tail end of 2019 — I was only waiting for the copyedited version — it was a muted Christmas when I told myself I still have my two cats, Charlie and Georgie. It was my first “orphan” Christmas.

Memories keep me warm

Fast forward four years. As many of you who have read my stories know, I lost Georgie unexpectedly in May. This was followed by yet another loss — this time, a friend a few years younger than my parents.

So not surprisingly, these last weeks, I’ve thought a lot of Alabama’s “Christmas Memories,” knowing all too well how memories keep one warm inside and tearful.

from Dan Casey — YouTube

And I’ve thought of Darlene Love’s upbeat hit “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” with its theme of loss familiar to those who are still missing a loved one. They may be singing “Deck the Halls” outside yet sometimes it doesn’t feel like Christmas at all when our loved ones are not around.

But when I’m in a better mood, I think of Frank Sinatra’s “Christmas Memories,” with a cheerier feel than Alabama’s version. (Note that both songs have different melodies and lyrics.) I too close my eyes and remember my childhood pleasures. Hearing the 60s Christmas carols, watching the cartoons, wishing for a white Christmas. I think of the Christmases I’ve had with my parents, from the US and all the way to England, where Mom visited me.

Then I think of the faces of my cousins, “kids” in their 50s who now have kids of their own as we text each other, scattered as we are across two continents — and I realize I still have “family” with whom I can touch base. So yes, indeed…when comes December, I remember every Christmas I’ve known. And that’s when I realize that Christmas memories are ultimately the sweetest ones we know. Because while gifts may come and go, it’s the memories that stay: the most enduring present of all.