sorrows

hobbitt and I put up our Christmas tree last night. We bought it our first Christmas together, 15 years ago. We've only missed a couple of holiday seasons, and even though it's been well-used, for a fake-o tree it's in pretty good shape. I have a collection of "sister" and "daughter" glass balls, and lots of handmade ornaments that Mom bought for us over the years, as well as her White House ornaments, which she ordered for each of us every Christmas. An old friend made woven-paper hearts; hobbitt came home once with a tiny ornament that says "Our First Christmas Together" and handed it to me like a shy little boy, which I'll never forget. We bought a fired-clay naked angel couple (who are also rather plump) at our favorite gallery in Akron; we have toy soldiers, musical instruments, long strings of colored beads, beautiful blown-glass witchballs, many hand-painted tiny cards from Lynn that were tags on gifts, but too beautiful to throw away. We have dozens of candles made during hobbitt's family's last Thanksgiving together, before his brother Kevin died. Everything on the tree is special and memorable. And we've never, ever had a topper. Usually we would hang an angel directly over the tree but in the foyer, the ceiling is just a tad too high for that. Maybe someday we'll figure out the perfect topper...

So it should have been a festive occasion, considering we were wearing holiday antlers and drinking champagne. But I was irritable most of the time and when we were finished and seated, still sipping champagne, I began to cry. I felt bereft, poor and empty. I miss my mother, not the way she had been in more recent years, but the way she was many years ago. She and Dad made Christmas so special for us every year with the many rituals our family shared. Wrapping greenery and red ribbon around the front light post. Dropping tinsel on the tree from the stairway was one of those things we children could do - and it seemed almost a wicked pleasure, to be messy. Unpacking the nativity pieces and setting them up on the mantle, and hanging the six stockings there before Dad would light a fire. Dad posing by the tree, usually with a goofy smile and his arm around the branches. One year, his new sweater caught a branch and as he walked away the entire tree followed him and fell. Dressing up for church after opening one gift each, and later, the treat of midnight mass and sleeping in the next day.

On Christmas Day, Aunt Agnes and Uncle Dennis would come, with Aunt Grace. As they arrived I was always anxious to kiss their icy cheeks and smell their perfumes before I hung up their coats. I remember warmth, and love, lots of laughter, wonderful smells of the filet mignon dinner (a treat that didn't come until I was a teenager, as poor as we had been), the clinking of ice in glasses, the myriad desserts, the big coffee percolator, and much lingering at the table.

It's not just Mom and Dad I miss. It's that whole notion, idea, memory, of family that no longer exists for me and probably never will again. It's the magic and feeling of security, the coming together of people who wanted to be in each other's company and didn't think of it as an obligation, but a festive occasion. There was so much anticipation entering the holiday season, and not just about presents. It was the whole package - the entire week of carolers and visitors and special foods and rare treats.

I don't know why I'm so attached to that image. I don't know why I can't open my heart and be unconditionally accepting of whatever is in front of me. I just know that I hurt deeply right now, yet it's not all a bad thing. For the past few years I didn't think I would ever feel much of anything again. So I guess this is good. I guess.