It’s The Most Horrible Time Of The Year
God, it’s already that time again
The holidays aren’t always merry and bright.
Yes, they are a time of feast and good cheer. Of visiting with friends and family members. Admiring homes overdecorated by people who must have too much time on their hands. And of seeing wonderment in the eyes of little children. Because really, it’s all about them. Traditions belong to the “old folk.”
I used to love Christmas. I knew I would always celebrate with friends and relatives at my home or theirs. I married a Jewish woman, so while the kids were young, it was important for them to know and celebrate both of our cultures.
Besides, Christmas is much more dazzling than Hannukah’s dreidel and potato pancakes!
We lived in Skokie, a heavily Jewish community at the time. My ex-wife was of the Reform denomination, known to be a more liberal and evolving sect of Judaism, the others being Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform. While the kids were raised in a Jewish setting, my ex and her family were not that observant. But they’d always show up at the temple during the High Holidays.
Because we had a Christmas tree and decorations scattered throughout the house, our home was the place to be for Christmas. For the Jews, anyway!
Since I left home at 18 and never returned, traditions I had known went by the wayside, so I created a new one. Christmas food was centered around a bountiful array of Mexican food. We had a gathering for our Jewish friends every Christmas Eve. Of course, Christians were invited too! But no, I didn’t make tamales.
We’d serve tacos and enchiladas, fajitas and chile rellenos, and if I was really into it, flautas. They’re kind of a pain in the ass because you have to dip the tortillas in hot oil for ten seconds, then roll them up with shredded chicken or beef, then fry again until crispy. The oil pops everywhere, a real mess for those who have to clean up. (The cook never has to clean.)
But that all ended in a D-I-V-O-R-C-E.
So why is this such a horrible time? It’s because it doesn’t exist anymore.
The families on both of my sides are so spread out that it’s impossible to gather. Out of six aunts and uncles, only one aunt remains. Thankfully, my Mom is still with us, but she’s having some issues, and I worry about her constantly. She is driving eight hours away from me and lives in a town with little air service. I’ll be with her later this month and also in January.
As for my nuclear family, this is not a jolly holiday. My ex-wife and I had not been on speaking terms for a good ten years before she passed away suddenly in August. Not that we would have been together anyway, but it’s a significant loss for my daughter. Even though it’s a “Christian” holiday, it’s always been a time for celebration and togetherness, and I know how much she will miss that.
And then, of course, there is the loss of my son. He was last seen alive on December 5, 2019. His body was found on December 10. As many of you reading this already know, he died by suicide.
So it kind of puts a damper on the holidays.
Oh, I try. This year, I bought a little tabletop Christmas tree for the first time since he passed. I don’t have many ornaments, so it fits this two-foot evergreen perfectly.
I have a few Christmas tchotchkes I scattered through the house. My favorite item is a strand of lights with candle-like spikes that stick up from them and are filled with some unknown substance that boils when the light underneath it heats up.
I still like Christmas music, but I don’t play it that much since it’s available on at least 17 radio stations and every streaming platform. I get my fill in the car. My favorite is still “Silent Night” by Stevie Nicks.
And I’ll never forget “The Snowman,” a short animated film by Raymond Briggs. With Alex on my lap, we would watch that over and over every Christmas Eve. There are no words — it is one orchestral movement. It is transcendent every time I watch it.
I still watch it on Christmas Eve. Alone while I silently weep. It’s about the only time I cry anymore. Nothing could be worse.
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