Merry Christmas!

Christmas was last week, and we are still in the Christmas season which lasts until Jan 6, the Epiphany of the 3 Kings (or Magi), and I’m pausing to reflect. For as long as I remember, I’ve been a Christmas boy. The trees, the lights, the Christmas shows, and the surprise and mystery of presents were things of wonder and magic. My family was working class—my dad sold mattresses at Joske’s—food was tight—but Santa Clause still came to our grandma’s house. Back then, people had kids and I had several cousins at both of my grandmothers houses (who only lived a couple blocks apart in the small Oklahoma town of Paul’s Valley) and that made Christmas extra special for us kids but also for the adults who vicariously got to leave their adult stresses and worries behind for precious moments as they stepped into the wonder of the children. As I grew up, the part of me fascinated by Christmas stayed connected to my little boy. I moved into a dorm my freshman year, and a tree was not feasible, but I moved out as a Junior into a small, cheap roach-infested apartment but it has a Christmas tree. I saved money throughout the year, looking for sales, and paying attention to what my family wanted. I didn’t want to just get any gift—I wanted to get the right gift.

Soon after college, I met Bart at Westbury Baptist Church. Bart had just gotten out of the hospital where he had almost died from Goodpasture’s, a super rare autoimmune disease where antibodies attack the lungs and kidneys. He was a Sci-Fi geek like me, we connected and he became my roommate (at the time, I wasn’t out and Bart was straight). Bart had lost his kidneys, and dialysis is brutal, and he survived on meager income. Compared to him, I was well off and so I went to town during Christmas (to be honest, I was crazy). His parents were also generous, treating me like family, and I felt connected to the times with my grandmas and to the wonder. The Goodpasture’s was put into remission but that doesn’t last and 10 years later he died. I had just come out, and I was seeing Tony who became my husband of 23 years. I’ve always felt like God sent Tony to me knowing what was coming. Tony had always done Christmas, but for him it was akin to Thanksgiving. I did Christmas BIG. My love of Christmas had survived life, and for the first time in a long time Tony was able to tap into his wonder by tapping into mine, experiencing Christmas like I did. Tony often told me how much he appreciated my passion for the season, and that I made it magical for him in a way that he had never experienced. I am a Christmas boy 😊.  I treated our every Christmas as if it might be our last, without exception, and I went all in. Some years, we hosted Christmas feasts for all of our friends (mostly his!) that had no where to go, I decorated the house inside and out, and we always had enough presents for a family of 8. Christmas was a lot of work and the moments were special.

This is the 3rd Christmas since Tony died. Year1, I didn’t “do” Christmas—for the first time, I had no tree, and I bought zero presents. The wonder that had endured through so much, was gone. In year2, I was asked to host my family—there are 8 of us, no children, and I felt the weight of the missing children as I could not find the wonder within—I needed to see it in the eyes of a child. The magic was missing. Year3, this year, I was again asked to host, and I got a new 9 foot tree (unlit—I’m so done with the pre-lit trees). I spent a month decorating it, using all of my ornaments. A week before the feast, I began to prepare my downstairs. I could have hired a maid for a one-time cleaning, but I was using a cook to prepare the meal, and it felt important that I engage in the work. Somewhere along the way, as everything pulled together, and my home took on the trappings of hard-earned Christmas magic, I reconnected to the meaning of the season; not in a direct religious sense, but holidays mark the passing of time. As I toiled, I found myself remembering. There was a sadness to it because I’m alone but there was also joy and wonder from past seasons. Yes, the wonder had begun to leak back into my heart. I’m grateful for the intention I brought to making the few hours with my family special. I don’t know if my mom will be here a year from now. Perhaps my sister will be gone. Or me. But I have a peace that I did what I could to make the family gathering happy, festive and fun, an echo of past seasons. Merry Christmas!