Originally Published to Blogger: 10 Dec 2015
December, I don’t know why I loathe December so much. Maybe it’s the closing of things at the end of the year, the finality of situations and the settling of karmic accounts. Maybe it’s the racing to and fro which never seems to end until January hits. Maybe it’s the detachment from the present which happens to me. Maybe it’s the longing for the past which I’ll never get back.
The holiday season hasn’t meant anything to me for decades. I’ve been on my own for too long for it to matter. While I enjoy all the time with my husband, and he brings me joy all year long, I don’t seem to get that quintessential holiday spirit. I find most of this season to be repulsive to me, in its falsehood and hypocrisy. Personally I feel that if you can’t be pleasant all year long, don’t fake it during the holiday season.
When I was younger, we’d put up the tree with mom. We’d bake with her, sing carols while she played the accordion, go shopping with her, and generally had a darn good time. Even when I moved out, I’d still return home to spend the holiday with her and the family, but times were so much different. When my grandmother was alive, we all gathered at her house. She passed and we’d gather at the house still to be with my grandfather. Once he passed, the whole family fell apart. So the gatherings got smaller, and I spent the time at my mother’s house with her and my stepfather, my brother and his family, sometimes my sister and her family would come down. It was a beautiful memory.
Once my mother passed, we all fractured even further. I finally fell out of the picture, which is how I wanted it. No more obligations to the family or people I despise. My husband and I do want to spend a holiday with my sister and her boys. But that’s the extent of my familial connections now. I won’t speak to my brother, nor to the variety of uncles, cousins, etc which dot the planet. I find them to be hideously loathsome in their behavior and it doesn’t suit my world view.
So now I spend my holiday with my husband and his parents, sometimes with friends which we have. It’s quiet and pleasant. When the day comes, I don’t wake with the childish resilience of Christmas day. It’s another day, albeit another day to spend with my husband. We have breakfast, and open presents. We go to the parents and spend time there. Then come home and have our dinner to relax and enjoy the evening. But in truth, I miss the old parties, the old banter, the activity of it all. I miss helping my mother with the cooking and baking, the preparations of the party, and the serving of the guests. Old traditions die so hard, don’t they?