Ghosts of Christmas Past
I am feeling more and more melancholy as Christmas approaches. I have been playing Christmas music for weeks. I put my Christmas tree up last weekend. My shopping is mostly done and it's all wrapped and under the tree. But the sadness creeps in. It's crazy to feel sad when I take care of people with cancer and there are homeless families out in the cold. It's nothing in comparison. But I'm trying not to dismiss my feelings and and bury them with food. I need to face the sadness.
I have so many good childhood memories from Christmas. Visions of Barbie Dolls, flannel night gowns, party dresses from Auntie Barbara, Martha and I snooping for presents, and being so excited Christmas morning I couldn't stay still, float in my head. I learned to love Christmas music from my Mother. She had her record player stacked with Christmas music from Thanksgiving through New Years Day. Our Christmas mornings always started early but with happiness and presents. Eventually it would break down and my Mother would become angry, tense and upset. Soon the tears and yelling would start. I always blamed my Dad, for not giving her a gift. As I got older I would nudge my Dad along in hopes of averting an episode. Mid morning we would head to my Grandparents house. The lectures would start in the car,"don't bother your Uncles" and "make sure you hug and kiss Nana". The tension in the car would thicken the closer we got. As an adult I came to understand the reality of the situation. My Auntie Lynn was an alcoholic and the smell that came from her was not her perfume or her scent, but alcohol. Nana had a quick fuse and I think my Mother was fearful of setting her off. I have many dark memories and mixed feelings toward my Nana. There were things I loved too. She had a beautiful clock that I loved to watch and she and my Grandfather had comfortable chairs that we would sit on until we got kicked off. Nana was a great cook and I loved her turkey and her rolls. I still sleep with the afghan she made for me and I think every time I use it that she is enfolding me in love that was so hard for her to show. I loved my Grandfather and he, my Dad and my Uncles loved to play cards but my Dad was always available for a hug if needed. A real highlight for me was when my Uncle John married Sue, and Martha and I finally had someone to talk to and pay attention to us. The pink robe she made for me one year was one of my favorite presents. It was even better when my cousin Kate was born.
We also went to Aunt Frances and Uncle Frank's house for a larger family get together. Aunt Frances was one of my Grandmother's sisters. I got to wear my new party dress and it was at their house that I watched "How The Grinch Stole Christmas" for the first time on a color TV. My Aunt Frances made us mittens and they were the best. There was always tons of food. The men usually played cards. But my cousin's husband Gene didn't. He had roaming hands, especially after drinking and we escaped him, most of the time, by hiding behind my Dad at the card table.
Though we had many wonderful times, looking back I see that things weren't good. My Grandmother was mentally ill and my Mother and her siblings paid a heavy price. My Auntie Lynn died when I was nineteen, but I still remember her white nurse uniform, her formed coned shaped brassieres and of course her smell. I would sit on her lap against that hard, pointy chest and she would stroke my hair and tell me I was her "special girl". As an adult, I no longer escaped my Grandmother's sharp tongue. When my children were born I had an overwhelming urge to protect them and we didn't go to NH as often, something that caused hurt feelings.
When I got married, Christmas became a magical, romantic time. I was so innocent, immature and just plain stupid. It all fell apart when fifteen years later, my ex husband left me shortly after Christmas. I knew he was going and I had spent weeks up to then, begging him to stay. It was then that I started to believe that Christmas, holidays and birthdays are only meant for people who have someone who loves them, not for single, imperfect, fat girls like me. I have spent a few Christmas days alone and I have never been so low in my life. It brings out my insecurities around being a good mother and I worry that they are having a better time with their Dad, that he is their preference. When we first separated we made a pact the we would each make sure the kids got a present for the other at birthdays and Christmas. It's been years since I have received a gift from them for either. By not helping them understand that it's a respectful, loving thing to do for someone special, I have raised boys who selfishly believe Christmas and Birthdays isn't for anyone but themselves. It's not about the gift, but the love that goes with the gift. It's about recognizing the love you feel for someone else. I don't need a gift, a simple act of kindness or recognition would be enough. But instead by not teaching them for fear of making them feel bad, I have allowed them to become disrespectful and dismissive toward me and it hurts.
The ghosts of Christmas past are back again this year. Someday I'll own my sadness by recognizing the truth behind those years instead of fearing the pain that surfaces. I'm not whinning, it wasn't nothing and it isn't insignificant. When I finally face it, I won't need the ice cream to buffer the pain.
I have so many good childhood memories from Christmas. Visions of Barbie Dolls, flannel night gowns, party dresses from Auntie Barbara, Martha and I snooping for presents, and being so excited Christmas morning I couldn't stay still, float in my head. I learned to love Christmas music from my Mother. She had her record player stacked with Christmas music from Thanksgiving through New Years Day. Our Christmas mornings always started early but with happiness and presents. Eventually it would break down and my Mother would become angry, tense and upset. Soon the tears and yelling would start. I always blamed my Dad, for not giving her a gift. As I got older I would nudge my Dad along in hopes of averting an episode. Mid morning we would head to my Grandparents house. The lectures would start in the car,"don't bother your Uncles" and "make sure you hug and kiss Nana". The tension in the car would thicken the closer we got. As an adult I came to understand the reality of the situation. My Auntie Lynn was an alcoholic and the smell that came from her was not her perfume or her scent, but alcohol. Nana had a quick fuse and I think my Mother was fearful of setting her off. I have many dark memories and mixed feelings toward my Nana. There were things I loved too. She had a beautiful clock that I loved to watch and she and my Grandfather had comfortable chairs that we would sit on until we got kicked off. Nana was a great cook and I loved her turkey and her rolls. I still sleep with the afghan she made for me and I think every time I use it that she is enfolding me in love that was so hard for her to show. I loved my Grandfather and he, my Dad and my Uncles loved to play cards but my Dad was always available for a hug if needed. A real highlight for me was when my Uncle John married Sue, and Martha and I finally had someone to talk to and pay attention to us. The pink robe she made for me one year was one of my favorite presents. It was even better when my cousin Kate was born.
We also went to Aunt Frances and Uncle Frank's house for a larger family get together. Aunt Frances was one of my Grandmother's sisters. I got to wear my new party dress and it was at their house that I watched "How The Grinch Stole Christmas" for the first time on a color TV. My Aunt Frances made us mittens and they were the best. There was always tons of food. The men usually played cards. But my cousin's husband Gene didn't. He had roaming hands, especially after drinking and we escaped him, most of the time, by hiding behind my Dad at the card table.
Though we had many wonderful times, looking back I see that things weren't good. My Grandmother was mentally ill and my Mother and her siblings paid a heavy price. My Auntie Lynn died when I was nineteen, but I still remember her white nurse uniform, her formed coned shaped brassieres and of course her smell. I would sit on her lap against that hard, pointy chest and she would stroke my hair and tell me I was her "special girl". As an adult, I no longer escaped my Grandmother's sharp tongue. When my children were born I had an overwhelming urge to protect them and we didn't go to NH as often, something that caused hurt feelings.
When I got married, Christmas became a magical, romantic time. I was so innocent, immature and just plain stupid. It all fell apart when fifteen years later, my ex husband left me shortly after Christmas. I knew he was going and I had spent weeks up to then, begging him to stay. It was then that I started to believe that Christmas, holidays and birthdays are only meant for people who have someone who loves them, not for single, imperfect, fat girls like me. I have spent a few Christmas days alone and I have never been so low in my life. It brings out my insecurities around being a good mother and I worry that they are having a better time with their Dad, that he is their preference. When we first separated we made a pact the we would each make sure the kids got a present for the other at birthdays and Christmas. It's been years since I have received a gift from them for either. By not helping them understand that it's a respectful, loving thing to do for someone special, I have raised boys who selfishly believe Christmas and Birthdays isn't for anyone but themselves. It's not about the gift, but the love that goes with the gift. It's about recognizing the love you feel for someone else. I don't need a gift, a simple act of kindness or recognition would be enough. But instead by not teaching them for fear of making them feel bad, I have allowed them to become disrespectful and dismissive toward me and it hurts.
The ghosts of Christmas past are back again this year. Someday I'll own my sadness by recognizing the truth behind those years instead of fearing the pain that surfaces. I'm not whinning, it wasn't nothing and it isn't insignificant. When I finally face it, I won't need the ice cream to buffer the pain.
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