Monday – Wrapping Up Christmas Baggage
Dec. 21st, 2009 09:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
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I confess I'm one of those people who lugs around a lot of baggage in regard to Christmas. When you are a child, Christmas is all about fun and presents and singing and pretty lights. When you are an adult, it's about expenses and obligations and every memories of every dark thing that ever happened to you during this obligatorily "happy" time of year that still haunt you. Still, I think I'm getting better. I was able to decorate the Christmas tree without crying this year, and if that's not a sign of progress then I don't know what is.
I don't mind decorating Christmas trees, I just hate doing it alone. This particular piece of Christmas baggage was packed for me by my father and youngest brother in the years after my mother's death. Growing up, decorating the tree was always a family activity and my mother made sure everyone participated, though once my dad had the lights up he considered his job done and would slip off to watch TV after awhile if he could.
After my mother died when I was 15, my house was haunted by two specters: my mother's absence, which was so enormous that it took up more room space than I recall her presence ever doing, and my father who turned into a living ghost after he lost the best friend and companion he had planned to grow old with. In the years between losing my mother and meeting my stepmother, my father went through the motions of living, but he was a shadow of a man who lacked any real substance. My youngest brother and I, the only two of his four children still living at home, grew a little feral during this time as we learned to take care of ourselves in the absence of a mother and in the presence of a living-dead father (I still refer to this time as "back when my dad was a zombie").
When it came to Christmas my father went through the motions like he did with any other thing. He put up the tree and the lights then disappeared to watch television. When I asked him and my youngest brother to help me decorate the thing, my father said, "You like doing that sort of thing, why don't you take care of it?" and my little brother said, "I don't feel like it, you do it."
So I did. I pulled out the all Christmas LPs like my mother used to do, stacked them on the turntable so that when one finished the next album would drop down and begin to play, and decorated the tree by myself while I cried quietly and loathed my father and brother. The two of them never had any idea I was crying because they never bothered to check in on my progress. The next day they would tell the tree looked nice.
When Jeff and I started our household, sometimes he would help decorate and sometimes he wouldn't. He has always worked nights and had weird days off in the middle of the week, so this was understandable. In the years he helped, I didn't cry, but in the years that his schedule meant that I had to decorate the tree while he slept, I did. I still hate decorating a tree by myself, and I probably will for the rest of my life. One year I confronted him and begged him to help me. He was surprised.
"In my house, my dad always did the lights and the garlands and he always left the ornaments to my mom and us kids," he said, "So I just considered my job done. You don't like decorating the tree?"
"I don't mind decorating the damned tree, I just don't want to decorate it by myself, and we don't have any damned kids to help me. I hate decorating the tree all alone! Hate it, hate it, hate it! If you want us to a Christmas tree in this house, you'd better make a point to help me put the damned ornaments on it!"
He got that expression men get when they are trying to figure out how to calm down a hysterical woman, and seeing it made me want to cram a Christmas ornament down his throat and then tie a garland around his neck for good measure. He helped that year. Some years, it just wasn't possible.
Now my son is old enough to help. He loves helping to decorate the tree. He loves every ornament we unwrap from the boxes, and he loves putting as many as he can on a single bough until it droops from the weight of them all. I go behind him and redistribute them, but he confronts me if he catches me.
"What happened to the other ornaments I put here?"
"That branch had too many ornaments, so I moved one up here. See? And one over here, so that they're more spread out."
"But I wanted them all together on this branch. I liked them there. I thought they looked pretty."
With all the redistribution of ornaments, the unwrapping of fragile and whimsical and colorful things, and the warnings to my little boy to be careful with the glass ornaments, there is no time to cry, or even think about crying, when I decorate the Christmas tree. When you are a child, Christmas is all about fun and presents and singing and pretty lights, and with a child in the room the burden of Christmas baggage is lifted and lightened until it seems to weigh nothing at all.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
I confess I'm one of those people who lugs around a lot of baggage in regard to Christmas. When you are a child, Christmas is all about fun and presents and singing and pretty lights. When you are an adult, it's about expenses and obligations and every memories of every dark thing that ever happened to you during this obligatorily "happy" time of year that still haunt you. Still, I think I'm getting better. I was able to decorate the Christmas tree without crying this year, and if that's not a sign of progress then I don't know what is.
I don't mind decorating Christmas trees, I just hate doing it alone. This particular piece of Christmas baggage was packed for me by my father and youngest brother in the years after my mother's death. Growing up, decorating the tree was always a family activity and my mother made sure everyone participated, though once my dad had the lights up he considered his job done and would slip off to watch TV after awhile if he could.
After my mother died when I was 15, my house was haunted by two specters: my mother's absence, which was so enormous that it took up more room space than I recall her presence ever doing, and my father who turned into a living ghost after he lost the best friend and companion he had planned to grow old with. In the years between losing my mother and meeting my stepmother, my father went through the motions of living, but he was a shadow of a man who lacked any real substance. My youngest brother and I, the only two of his four children still living at home, grew a little feral during this time as we learned to take care of ourselves in the absence of a mother and in the presence of a living-dead father (I still refer to this time as "back when my dad was a zombie").
When it came to Christmas my father went through the motions like he did with any other thing. He put up the tree and the lights then disappeared to watch television. When I asked him and my youngest brother to help me decorate the thing, my father said, "You like doing that sort of thing, why don't you take care of it?" and my little brother said, "I don't feel like it, you do it."
So I did. I pulled out the all Christmas LPs like my mother used to do, stacked them on the turntable so that when one finished the next album would drop down and begin to play, and decorated the tree by myself while I cried quietly and loathed my father and brother. The two of them never had any idea I was crying because they never bothered to check in on my progress. The next day they would tell the tree looked nice.
When Jeff and I started our household, sometimes he would help decorate and sometimes he wouldn't. He has always worked nights and had weird days off in the middle of the week, so this was understandable. In the years he helped, I didn't cry, but in the years that his schedule meant that I had to decorate the tree while he slept, I did. I still hate decorating a tree by myself, and I probably will for the rest of my life. One year I confronted him and begged him to help me. He was surprised.
"In my house, my dad always did the lights and the garlands and he always left the ornaments to my mom and us kids," he said, "So I just considered my job done. You don't like decorating the tree?"
"I don't mind decorating the damned tree, I just don't want to decorate it by myself, and we don't have any damned kids to help me. I hate decorating the tree all alone! Hate it, hate it, hate it! If you want us to a Christmas tree in this house, you'd better make a point to help me put the damned ornaments on it!"
He got that expression men get when they are trying to figure out how to calm down a hysterical woman, and seeing it made me want to cram a Christmas ornament down his throat and then tie a garland around his neck for good measure. He helped that year. Some years, it just wasn't possible.
Now my son is old enough to help. He loves helping to decorate the tree. He loves every ornament we unwrap from the boxes, and he loves putting as many as he can on a single bough until it droops from the weight of them all. I go behind him and redistribute them, but he confronts me if he catches me.
"What happened to the other ornaments I put here?"
"That branch had too many ornaments, so I moved one up here. See? And one over here, so that they're more spread out."
"But I wanted them all together on this branch. I liked them there. I thought they looked pretty."
With all the redistribution of ornaments, the unwrapping of fragile and whimsical and colorful things, and the warnings to my little boy to be careful with the glass ornaments, there is no time to cry, or even think about crying, when I decorate the Christmas tree. When you are a child, Christmas is all about fun and presents and singing and pretty lights, and with a child in the room the burden of Christmas baggage is lifted and lightened until it seems to weigh nothing at all.
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no subject
Date: 2009-12-21 04:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-21 04:18 pm (UTC)We have made some traditions of our own, they just take a few years to transform from, "Let's try something new," to "But we have to! It's a tradition!"
no subject
Date: 2009-12-21 04:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-21 04:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-21 07:12 pm (UTC)I agree w/ what someone else said - that you should try to create your own traditions w/ your son/family. That's the best way to heal.
*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2009-12-21 04:10 pm (UTC)One Christmas, things had been particularily well...abusive, I guess you could say with my mom so my dad decided Christmas was a great time for a family intervention. I guess it was since the family was together but the memories cloud my Christmas ever since.
So many extended relatives got together to tell my mom that she needed help, (basically)
She went beserk. She threw away my sister's new talking doll from her grandparents. Once we went home from my grandparents, she took our Christmas that next night while we slept, covered in the special ornaments my aunt had gotten us each year, each engraved with our names and her name and the date and threw it away, decorations, lights, trees and all.
We woke up and it was gone forever.
It's silly to sit here and cry after so many years. I was around 13 or 14 (I think) so it was just ornaments but yeah, it still...it makes me sad. I particularily remember this little dancing angel with curls that I meant to show my future daughters someday when I hung it on my own tree.
It's just things.
I guess it's more I'm sad for the mom I didn't have.
Again, silly, you can't change the past.
But, in a different way, yes, I kind of understand how things can be unbearable at the holidays.
I really like how you wrote this, how you tied it together: the beginning and end and it is true. We cannot change our childhood but, sometimes, the childhood of own kids helps heal us in some small way.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-21 04:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-21 05:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-21 04:15 pm (UTC)Grief DOES make you a zombie. I was one for months after I miscarried and lost my father-in-law within two days and I KNOW it wasn't good for my kids to have a zombie mom.
I hope you can see now, your dad DID Love you desperately, he just couldn't cope. I know we parents are supposed to pull ourselves together for our kids and ideally we do but sometimes it takes time.
I am glad Jeff loves you and helped you with the tree anyways, even though he probably didn't understand.
My kids decorate just like Sweet Pea with a million all on the same branch:)
I'm so glad you have your little son.
I wish you hadn't lost your mom. It really made me sad reading how you even put on the Christmas music and all. I know she must have been amazing to raise a daughter like you..which probably only makes you miss her more.
::Hugs::
no subject
Date: 2009-12-21 04:34 pm (UTC)Kids, in general, have so sense of aesthetic balance. They want all the ornaments down where they can see them, and all together so they can appreciate them in a bunch. :)
I'm glad I had my mother for the time that I did, and I wish I hadn't lost her so soon. If I hadn't, though, I can't say who I would be now. That grief is a huge part of me and formed me as much as anything else in my childhood did. If I didn't have it, this sadness in the center of all my jokes, I would be a stranger to myself.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-21 08:27 pm (UTC)If I don't make any sudden motions and can get a hold of the garland and tie it around her, I just might survive this.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-22 08:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-21 08:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-22 08:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-22 07:56 pm (UTC)Damn straight :-/
I don't know what it is about this time of year - I'm sure the extreme cold and darkness don't help, either - but you're definitely not alone in feeling this way.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-22 08:50 pm (UTC)