New Traditions

I cannot remember the last time that I sat down to my computer with any other intention than to write a new chapter for my memoir, and I do not remember the last blog post that I wrote. 

It’s December 27, 2017. I am sitting with a cup of chai and watching the snow fall on the forest next to our home. It all seems very romantic… a white Christmas, family gathering in our home, having all that we need. It is a romantic notion and the Christmas my family experienced was very beautiful. It wasn’t always this way. 

I feel inspired to write today. I opened a Facebook message this morning from someone I consider a ‘Facebook Friend’. We are friendly for sure, but I would not consider us friends. It makes me question how this person actually survived my Facebook Friend purge last month when I unceremoniously un-friended or as I prefer to think of it, freed myself from 500 people who over the years I have randomly accepted their requests. 

I opened this random message this week and the sender was wondering if I had considered the many people who do not enjoy Christmas for diverse reasons, when I post all of my ‘happy’ Christmas’ photos and how these may be making these people feel.   I have not responded to this message, yet. I have been sitting with it and considering how to respond, because I have more than considered how those people that this person referred to feel, I have been them more times that I care to remember.

With much consideration I have decided to acknowledge the question posed to me and to actually explain why I go to so much effort during the Christmas season. I believe that this is an opportunity to offer some insight to some and hopefully to replace the judgement that some may be experiencing.

When I was a child, our Christmases were either very joyful with the help of my Godparents, who always made the holidays special with thought, spirit and traditions, or they were as tragic as you can possibly imagine.

Each year was different. It all depended if my mother was in conflict with my Godmother or not, whether or not we would be having an especially joyful Christmas.

The good years were filled with group Christmas carol – sing alongs, visits from Santa, dancing to their jukebox, my brother Lonnie playing his bagpipes around the Christmas tree, ribbon candies and lots of laughs and happiness.

The not good years were really not good. I will not go into a great deal of detail here, but I will offer one example of the worst Christmas a child between the ages of 4 years old and 10 years old could ever experience.

One Christmas, my step father’s jealousy was triggered and while he chased my mother around the kitchen table with a knife, intending to do her harm, while I watched this scene unfold from the bedroom door that I shared with my sisters, who were hiding behind me in our darkened room, a neighbour had called the police who arrived and promptly took my sisters and I to a shelter where we spent Christmas that year. I will never forget the policeman who drove us there, he offered me a peppermint in the car. I remember thinking that it was too spicy, but I didn’t want to upset anyone else that night, so I just ate it.

There were other equally tragic Christmases that my siblings and I endured. I was not even 14 years old when I made a promise to myself. I promised myself that one day, if and when I ever had a family of my own, I was going to make Christmas so special. I would decorate our home, celebrate with our friends and family, I would have a beautiful tree, I would do crafts with them…

I committed to myself that my children, husband and I would enjoy a joyful, peaceful, loving and beautiful Christmas every year. I have stayed true to myself and to this promise.

The first few years after we had our children, I will admit, it was difficult to reprogram myself to stay present and to enjoy what was in front of me while supressing those other memories which would try to surface. I guess you could say that I was masking those painful memories with tinsel and shiny bows. You would not be wrong.

As the years have gone by, I have created magical memories for my family. Now, when I have Christmas memories surface, they are mostly of the new, beautiful memories my family and I have created. I am not saying that the older, painful memories are not still within me. I am just saying that with each new memory that my family and I make dulls the sharpness of the harsh ones that I experienced.

So, yes, I may go overboard at Christmas. I may love it a bit more than most other people; however, I feel like I am making up for lost time. I feel that I am providing my children with what they deserve. I feel good about that.

Yes, I love Christmas. Yes, I still have moments and days during the season that I find very challenging to stay positive and to keep those blues away, and yes, I am doing my best.

We all have difficult years that we find challenging. We all get our share…

In my case, unfortunately, most of those years came in my first two decades of life.

I recently read a quote from Glennon Doyle Melton, which read:

“First the pain, then the rising.”

I am enjoying the rising part of my life. I hope we all are.

Merry Christmas!