Where did they all go?
I remember being a kid in the slums, with all my slum cousins. Huge turkey, twenty-odd (very odd) people in the house on Christmas Day. My grandmother Sullivan, and my Nana were alive then. Nana lived with us, and usually did all the baking. I always had some kind of ornate dress - sometimes red velvet, sometimes blue lace. Devil with a blue dress on. My godparents would come over with an ostentatious gift (I kept many of them through the years, to remind me that they didn't always hate me). My cousin Rose was a teenager, all angles and gawkiness. No one at the dinner table knew she would grow into a beautiful and notorious Madam. No one at that table knew a damn thing about what the future would hold.
After leaving the slums behind, and becoming suburbanites, Christmas took on a different feel. The gifts under the tree were better, and the livingroom was bigger, but no one made the trip to our house for dinner anymore. Too far to travel from the slums to the 'burbs. Only my Uncle Rick (who was notorious in his own right) would make the trip. Nana still baked, and Mom still cooked, but it just had a different vibe. I wonder if it's because the move to the 'burbs is what precipitated the sale of The Cottage, and that's why I look back with a jaded eye. It was the start of my growing up. Although I was only 7, I had lost my childhood. Santa was pushed to the back of my mind. Grandma Sullivan was dead. The Cottage was about to be sold out of my reach forever. Why bother decorating?
When I was 10, we lost Nana very suddenly. My mother and I had come back from the hospital where Nana was recovering from pneumonia. No sooner had we stepped in the door when the phone rang. On November 14th, 1986, I lost my best friend. Christmas that year was tough, yet it is one that sticks with me. I am, perhaps, the only person on this planet who can be reduced to tears while listening to Bony M's
Mary's Boy Child. That calypso-esqe holiday tune never fails to bring tears to my eyes. Everytime I hear it, I see myself on Christmas morning, 1986, standing in the kitchen with my mother. She is stuffing the turkey, and I am nibbling on homemade truffles from Uncle Rick's girlfriend. It's about 7 in the morning, but the radio is turned on and turned up. Mary's Boy Child comes on. There is no reason for this memory to make me cry, but it does.
All time worst Christmas ever: 1990. My mother went into the hospital on December 16th. We were flat broke, and my first love, Vince, was coming in for Christmas from St. Catharine's ON. What a disaster! I agreed with Dad that I would rather us buy a gift for Vince, than have Dad buy a gift for me. So we bought him a skateboard. Weeks before, Mom had bought a massive turkey, thinking we'd have a few people over for the big day. No one knew at that time that she had 5 months to live. So here's Dad & I trying to put on a brave and cheerful front for Vince, plus visit Mom - who was still undiagnosed at the time, and was extremely irritated at being in the hospital for Christmas. My godmother sent me an ugly sweater. That pretty much summed it up, thankyouverymuch.
Strangely, the following Christmas began a new trend of warmth in our house. Although Dad and I were still coming to terms with each other, our referee no longer with us, we both seemed open to the idea of Christmas. December 24th saw me spending the early part of the evening at my friend Steve's house, with his family. Then around 10 o'clock, Dad would pick me up, and we'd go home to watch Alistair Sim in A Christmas Carol. No one has yet to play a better Scrooge, as far as I'm concerned (although strangely, Michael Caine in A Muppet Christmas Carol comes a close second). We'd have a few drinks, and something to eat, and at midnight we'd open our presents before heading off to bed. We celebrated that way for 4 years. December 25th usually found us at a local deli, eating kosher food, because we couldn't be bothered heading to my godparents' house for dinner. Dad knew I had pretty much said goodbye to my mother's family when I said goodbye to my mother. It was a chapter of my life that had ended, and I wanted to leave it behind.
Then another chapter ended. The Orphan's Christmas Party was on December 22, 1995. I was celebrating my independance, and mouring my loss, all at the same time. My friends were happy to gather round me, and I fed and watered tham well for their efforts. Sadly, most of those people were only superficial friends, but hey - you take what you can get. That was also the last Christmas Eve I spent with Steve and his family. Things got weird for him after that, and I had my own troubles. 1995 also saw me spend Christmas Day at the Cottage. Well, not
my Cottage, but close enough. Dad's old friend and his family took me in. I could hardly conceal the love and joy I felt just for being surrounded by that which I loved most - them, their family and extended family, and the pine walls of my childhood. It was like being hugged on the inside.
I'll Be Home for Christmas finally meant something to me.
Over the years, like Blanche Dubois, I came to rely on the kindness of strangers at Christmas. Thankfully, those strangers soon became friends. Christmas Day switched from The Cottage to Heather's house. Her mother was a helluva baker & cook, and they always had a little something under the tree for wayward me. It was a sense of family, if only for a moment.
By 2000, I had been to hell and back. I wanted to celebrate my return with a Christmas bash to rival the one in 1995. I called caterers. I invited people from all over North America. Tem was coming up. Heather was coming home. Life was grand! Till her mother fell deathly ill, and was admitted to the hospital on December 20th. All plans were cancelled, except for Heather's return which was more urgent than ever. Our Christmas miracle that year was Pat's survival. No party, but no funeral, either. I could live with that.
Christmas 2001 was non-existent. I got married on December 21st, and that rather overshadowed the holidays. With good cause, of course! But since then, I have had my fabulous husband by my side. Even when there were no presents undet the tree, and we didn't know if we could afford to eat - like last year! - we always had each other.
This year, I had a party. My first one in 8 years. The cast of characters was completely different. There was not a single one of them I had known for more than 6 months.
Does that mean I'm on a new chapter again?
