Last Christmas

Dearest Rachel –

To say that this Christmas was different than most would be a blinding understatement. So perhaps I should go into the ‘why’ and ‘how,’ rather than just settling with a single, over-generalized statement like that. After all, if you look closely enough, every day is different from its fellows, so why wouldn’t one Christmas be noticeably different from the ones before and following?

However, I might as well start with the thing or two that hasn’t changed. What celebrations there are, happen elsewhere. Santa has never stopped at our home, because we would always spend Christmas at either your parents’ or mine (and usually overnight, despite the latter living within walking distance in summer, as you just preferred to be able run to the tree first thing in the morning, still clad in pajamas, to check everything out before we would sit down for breakfast. I miss that little kid in you, honey). It’s gotten that much more so since you left, as because of this, neither Daniel nor I feel inclined to put up decorations that we’ll just have to eventually take down – ever since the gut-wrench of having to do that for you (albeit with Jan’s help) back in February of 2021, I don’t really care to repeat the experience. If Megumi exists, and she insists on it, I’ll be more than willing to then (it will help that at least someone will be enthusiastic about the process, and she’ll be at my side helping me), but until then, this is our status quo novus.

In fact, this month has seen more in the way of Hanukkah decorations than Christmas ones, thanks to Logan and his efforts. To be sure, it’s a low bar to clear, and it’s not as if he clears it by much, but the fact that he bothers with a hanukkiah – and re-lights it every night with a new set of candles (the ones from the day before, unlike the oil of yore, only last a single day’s use before melting to a nub) – even though he spent several of the evenings with his family puts him several steps ahead of us in keeping the place festive in its own way. And this hasn’t changed from last year.

And then, there are the trappings that remain the same across the years, such as the presents (which are universal practically throughout the world) and the preparations for breakfast; I’d actually pointed out the other day, as we gathered around Dad for his birthday, how there were those that didn’t get to enjoy it, either because of not being able to eat (Dad) or eschewing main ingredients such as eggs (Bill and Will) or cheese (Will), and wondered whether I should even bother this year. Jenn promptly responded by making it clear that she looked forward to the dish, and that she was clearly not alone in that. As she was taking the trouble to host our gathering this year, the least I could do was to contribute my part of the food preparation. And so, that too has remained part of the usual family tradition.

But as you may have noticed already, I mentioned that we weren’t going to be at a parents’ house this year. With Dad’s situation, Mom has been at his side throughout most of her waking hours (which worries Jenn, as she thinks Mom needs to get more rest than she’s allowing herself. For my part, I don’t know what to say; while I agree about the need for rest, simply going home doesn’t guarantee a restful sleep. If Mom feels better about Dad by being where he is, so be it. She’s certainly able to make her own decisions; all we can do is point out the pros and cons, and let her choose her own path), so preparing the house for company – even family, who would be more tolerant of a less-than-ideal setting – has been out of the realm of possibility. Meanwhile, Jenn has been freed up from her usual obligation of hosting Bill’s family on Christmas, so everything rather fell into place quite nicely. Besides, it’s that much shorter of a trip for us, about a third the distance – although when you’re talking about the difference between one and three miles, it’s hardly significant.

And then there’s the elephant in the room, or rather, absent from the room. The motions we went through yesterday were very much familiar, between the time spent as the soufflé baked, the conversation around the table (the consensus is that I should continue to use sourdough bread as a base going forward) and the distribution and opening of presents, but there was something – or rather someone – missing. It was weird to read cards and labels coming from Mom and Dad when only Mom was there to accept my thanks.

I know, I know; this isn’t the first Christmas we’ve had to deal with an absent family member, honey. We spent at least one with your mom after your dad’s passing (as well as a New Year on the other year between the two such holiday seasons), and I’ve dealt with three such Christmases without you in turn. But this is different, insofar that there was this long stretch of time to accustom ourselves to life without. Dad’s barely been sick for two weeks.

Which is the other odd thing about this moment; Dad isn’t gone yet – although at this point, it’s taken for granted that he won’t see another Christmas. But the fact that he isn’t given the opportunity to spend his last Christmas with his family seems decidedly… wrong somehow. Sure, he hasn’t been able to enjoy breakfast with us for the last five year, which has its own sort of unfairness about it, but he’s acclimatized himself to the situation, as have we. I don’t think any of us were prepared for this year, despite recognizing the inevitability of time’s effects on us all.

At least we still have him around for now, though, and we could drive over to spend time with him. We even presented our gift to him, as a sort of modicum of the usual celebration – and while it makes me sad to think that he’ll not be likely to go through any of the word search puzzles we got him, it’s no more saddening than the sight of the four jigsaw puzzles he’d purchased for himself a month ago languishing in the basement, still in their cellophane wrapping. Sometimes we leave before we can use everything we have; sometimes, our T-shirts are made into quilts without ever having the chance to be worn. It’s not fair, but that’s how life is, sometimes. I have to be grateful for even having the chance to give these to him; at least we got that moment out of them.

And who knows? He seemed to be in better spirits and strength yesterday, turning in his bed (with help from us as we could) in order to avoid adding to his collection of bedsores (and hopefully to relieve the ones he has). We’ve assumed him to be on his way out before and been surprised in the past; we can’t count him out yet. And the home has supposedly put in an order for an air mattress to relieve his discomfort going forward; the holiday staff may not have been sufficient to move it into his bed, but once the full complement is back at work, he may have himself a late Christmas present. We can take but one day at a time, honey.

And with that being said, I have another day to begin. So I’ll ask you to keep an eye on both him and me, and wish us both luck. We’re going to need it.