IT’S MY LIFE

The Holidays Sometimes Suck

Shrinking families and lost traditions can make things feel less merry and bright

There’s always a tradeoff in life. At least, that’s the way it appears to me. When I left my family and friends in Chicago and moved to Atlanta, I was leaving behind more than I realized then. Rising rent prices, rising food prices, one disappointing man after the other, I was looking for something new, something more, and was happy to leave all of that in my wake. I felt that my family and friends would always be there. Just an airplane ride away.

What never occurred to me was just how deep my sense of family is tied to holiday celebrations. Not just the biggies like Thanksgiving and Christmas but every New Year’s Day, Easter Sunday, Memorial Day, 4th of July and Labor Day we had our traditional big family dinner or backyard barbecue.

My father, brothers, cousins, in-laws and family friends would gather at my mother’s house or my aunt’s house where we ate, drank, exchanged gifts, watched the ballgames on television, played cards, debated current events and above all else, celebrated just being together. The sound level would be off the chain. We kept up quite the ruckus. Every single holiday. Every year.

But when I moved to Atlanta and especially after I got married, my holidays were suddenly quiet and much less eventful. My husband has three children but one was away serving her country in the military and another lived under the controlling thumb of his mother. Only one, the eldest, shared the holidays with us regularly. While they watched football games in the den I sat in the kitchen and called my family, all gathered in one house, in Chicago. They would pass the phone from one to the other and I shared a few words with everybody until dinner was served and it was time for them to say grace.

At first it wasn’t really an issue. For years I simply rolled with it. Sure, I missed the old days but the trade-off was a solid marriage to a wonderful man who was more comfortable in the peace and quiet of his own home. And what suited him suited me.

After 29 years and 29 holiday seasons, you’d think I’d be so used to the peace and quiet now that I prefer it this way too. But no. I don’t.

The summer holidays have become just another day for me. Memorial Day, July 4th, Labor Day, I work right through them on whatever I’ve got going on and maybe bake a slab of ribs in the oven.

Easter Sunday is just another Sunday. I bake a ham and always try and catch THE TEN COMMANDMENTS on television.

And while I still prepare Thanksgiving dinner and decorate the house for Christmas, it serves little purpose. I dress a tree and hang lights and garlands mostly for myself. My husband enjoys seeing the house all merry and bright but honestly, he can take it or leave it.

This is the week that I’d usually buy the tree or at least pull out my collection of wreaths, garlands, lights and ornaments but this year I’m still debating whether to bother with any of it at all. My heart just isn’t in it. I’m feeling kinda blue.

But what happens if I give into this mood and then look around the house on December 24 and there’s no tree, lights or poinsettias, and the mantle is minus it’s usual holiday evergreens and my Black nutcracker brigade? I fear that would only make me feel worse.

Every holiday brings on this nagging sense of dread and melancholy. My heart aches not just for my parents who are no longer with us and others who have passed away or moved away but for the tradition itself, of family coming together under one roof and celebrating. I don’t know why but I never had the elements in place to create such traditions and some years, like this one, pains me more than others.

There’s always a tradeoff. Believe me. No one gets to have it all.