Christmas.
Is there any holiday more full of emotional landmines than this one? All month I've been fighting to keep the memories at bay- to delegate them to the portion of my mind where they are happy and non-threatening. I want to be able to decorate my Christmas tree and listen to music and watch movies without collapsing into a sobbing heap on the floor (or couch). Not too hard to ask, is it? Apparently, it is.
My first, short marriage ended badly. I had moved out of our apartment and into the spare room at my parents' house, and was trying valiantly to stay in the holiday spirit by writing Christmas cards, listening to Manheim Steamroller, and making fudge. The Sunday before Christmas I stayed home while Mom and Dad went to church, and that morning my husband came to talk to me. We sat on the floor in the hall and cried. And, because Christmas makes me sentimental, and I wanted to come home so badly, by the end of the day I had moved back to our apartment. Unfortunately, the holidays ended and our problems didn't. The Christmas tape wasn't strong enough to keep us together.
Perhaps to counteract the painful memories of before, I decided that two days after Christmas would be perfect for my second wedding to take place. That year, Christmas was exciting and romantic, full of plans and Mariah Carey songs and B & Bs. For many years, Christmas was everything I had always wanted it to be, and my husband and I created lovely family traditions and memories with our two daughters and our extended families. Add an idyllic small town, usually snow, and a century-old house to decorate with white lights and greenery and how could it go wrong?
But it did, and the time came that I found myself celebrating Christmas back at Mom and Dad's, in that same spare room I'd inhabited years before.
Time brought into my life a new love, a new house, some potential new holiday traditions.. but I couldn't let go of the past. Eventually, we came to the painful conclusion that it wasn't working and, five years ago today, after what should've been a romantic Christmas Day walk in the park, we had our last huge fight and I tearfully moved back into the spare room.
Today, as I walk the dog on a freakishly warm and very quiet Christmas morning, I reflect on my strange tendency toward the dramatic during this time of year. Last year I was able to go back to my ex's house and celebrate Christmas with my grown daughters and their families, eating our traditional breakfast of scrambled eggs with mushrooms, and laughing over the story of how Santa landed on our roof one year and woke us up (it's true!). It was lovely, and I knew, even as it was happening, that it was also likely the last time we would be together like this as a family with no new spouses or significant others. This year, everyone is scattered, creating their own traditions, and I am alone in my little house. I could be curled into a ball on the couch, tormenting myself with the memories of what was and what I can't have anymore, but I'm not. This year, although alone, I am at peace. I will take a long walk later, maybe watch a movie, probably read, and enjoy some wine.
And when the untamed memories of the past snap and snarl at me, I will speak soothingly to them, so they will become less threatening. Perhaps next year, it will be even easier.
