In high school we were given the assignment to write a story
about our family during the holidays. I was a kid and didn’t really appreciate
my family at the time. I talked about my family as any teenager would, pointing
out the oddities and ridiculousness of tradition. Now that I'm older, I
realize the quirks I once saw as character flaws, are actually the threads that
will, and do, hold a family together.
When
I look back over the years, some of the best times with my family have been during
the holidays. As I have become an adult those times become even more
cherished, little pieces of time, nuggets of gold that we carry around in our
hearts.
I have to be honest and state that I struggled with the
topic of this post. We all have our favorite Christmas memories. We all also
have those memories that are not so merry. Those are the ones we remember more
than the good ones. We think of them as scars on our perfect greeting cards.
The truth is, those scars make the meaning of Christmas that much more
poignant. Those are the events that show us the true meaning of Christmas.
When I was younger I couldn’t wait to start my life. It was
never about what was happening at that moment, it was more about what was ahead
of me, the bright, limitless future. As soon as I graduated from high school I
moved out on my own. In that time I became fairly estranged from my family and
Christmas was just another holiday. The
holidays came and went, and I was alone for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I lived
in a one bedroom apartment by myself, and friends were co-workers. I worked all the time. It was better than
sitting in a silent apartment, so of course I worked the holidays.
In February of the next year I found myself in a predicament
and went to my mother’s house to ask for help. No one was home, but I went
inside anyway. She and I hadn’t spoken in months, and my visit was unannounced.
As I walked through my childhood home it felt different, foreign and like I
didn’t belong there. Nothing about the house had changed, and I ventured into
the kitchen where I found an overflowing gift basket with my name on it. The
dust around the gift told me it had been sitting there for a while, just
waiting to be claimed. It was then I realized I had changed. When I left my
family, I was of the mindset that I was a girl without a family. As I stood
there, it dawned on me that I was wrong. My family was without a daughter. I
left the basket unclaimed, and left the house without leaving a note.
It was time for me to be the daughter who deserved the seat
at the family table. It had been saved and left empty, waiting for my return.
Seven months passed before I rallied the courage to call my mother and that, to
be honest, was out of pure fear of a mother’s wrath. If I didn’t call her that
day, I would regret it for the rest of my life. You see, it was August 13th
1994, the day my eldest son was born. I was ready to come home and be part of
my family again.
On Christmas I think about the times I lived without my
family, and it makes me cherish every moment even more. They say absence makes
the heart grow fonder, and this is true with holidays as well. You don’t
realize what you have until it is gone. So the moral of the story is simple.
Enjoy the holidays, cherish your family, savor the time you have. There is no
holiday without family, and I use the word family loosely. Family -- meaning
those who are loved and important in our lives. Happy Holidays to you all! I
will see you in 2017!
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