It doesn't really feel as though I've had Christmas. In years before, December has been filled with sweet anticipation for a time of togetherness, friends and family, good food, and cozy warmth. All was going according to plan until Scott's death. Although, for me, the keeness of the pain has passed, his death and the suffering his family must be going through has hung over this holiday like a dark cloud.
Then there was Christmas dinner at the S--'s. Again, in other years, this event was something to be looked forward to. Since J--'s stroke; however, it becomes more forced and unpleasant. J--'s husband and my mother do not get along. They never really have, but they endure each other because of J--. The difference, now, being G--'s resentment that bubbles to the top at almost every visit. My mother struggles to come into Toronto to visit her dear friend, suffering her own chronic pain and illness thanks to fibromyalgia and G-- demeans her. He mocks her illness and makes her feel utterly unwanted. In this case, it was even worse than normal because she had cooked the turkey and cranberry sauce and stuffing and brought them in with her for the Christmas meal. Instead of gratitude (and really, is that so much to ask for?), she was brushed off and essentially told to do whatever with the food because she (and it) wasn't wanted. What made this even more offensive is that this, and the ensuing argument, occurred in front of J--.
The tension, as you can well imagine, was terrible all night. And even though J--'s son and daughter-in-law arrived with their little baby, the tension never really lifted. It was the most unjolly Christmas dinner I can remember, with the possible exception being my first dinner with Rick's parents, when I had to be hospitalised with a migraine.
All I've really wanted to do for the duration of the holiday was sleep. Sleep away the grief, sleep away the stress, sleep away the days. I haven't even had the time to watch The Box of Delights as I've either been too busy, or asleep. I'm looking forward to the week after New Years for the simple reason that I'll be able to enjoy some peace and quiet with my mother and finally do Christmas, if a little late.
I know I'm lucky. I know that terrible things have happened around the Indian Ocean and thousands of lives were lost in a matter of hours. I know that war rages and compared to the families whose lives are torn apart by strife, starvation, and anguish, mine is a charmed life. I know that the gifts I received were what I asked for. I know that despite everything, I am deeply loved. I'm thankful every day for these things. But that doesn't mean I can't want the magic of the season and, this year, the magic didn't come.
