What I've gained, what I've lost
The evolution of Christmases past and present.
This is my fourth divorced Christmas. The first one, in 2019, was undoubtedly the worst. The year leading up to Christmas 2019 had included – to keep it brief – me falling in love with a woman and the life-altering fallout that ensued. I had revealed my undeniable feelings to both the woman and to my husband in summer 2019. Following that revelation was marriage counseling and separate bedrooms in the fall. As the year wound to a close, I watched my married life unravel fully. My then-husband moved out of our shared home on Christmas Day 2019.
Christmas time and the holidays have never been an easy or uncomplicated time, even before the divorce and events that led up to it. December 17 is the anniversary of when my father was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. My only memories of that Christmas, more than 20 years past, are of that stark, cold hospital room in Roanoke, VA, where my dad’s doctor held up MRI scans to accompany his delivery of the news that a softball-sized tumor at the core of my dad’s brain was going to kill him.
Childhood memories of Christmas include sparse, intermittent joyful ones (one standout is at age 8 when I got my first bike – a white and fuchsia cruiser with a banana seat) and waves of sadness (I can still feel the dull ache in my chest that settled over me whenever my beloved grandfather would leave our house after the holiday). Spending time with my grandparents, especially my grandfather – my dad’s dad, a sweet, kind, and gentle man who lived to be 101 – at the various houses my family inhabited over the years were a highlight. He was an ever-present source of light, warmth, and comfort in a house mostly devoid of those offerings the rest of the year. His car pulling out of the driveway after Christmas every year signified that the fun was over.
My grandfather, above, with his Rolling Rock Drinkin’ Glove. He was the most special man.
My parents separated when I was 15 and maintained an acrimonious relationship almost until the end of my dad’s life. I don’t recall many loving moments between them even before they split up. Memories of our home around the holidays were stressful and tense. There always seemed to be more to do than there was time to do it. Presents had to be shopped for, purchased, and wrapped. My dad always had to work. My siblings and I had few close relatives around our age. My mom was an only child and my dad was one of two kids – his brother and family lived states away, so we rarely saw them for Christmas. Any extended family gatherings were limited to having a meal with distant cousins whom we saw just once or twice a year. There were, however, so many aging great-aunts to visit, I recall. We’d pile into the car at least a couple of days each Christmas break so my mom would drive us up I81 to see them in various neighborhoods in Southwest Roanoke. We would sit respectfully for a few hours on a stiff couch in a home that smelled like stale cigarette smoke and too much baby powder-laced perfume.
As I got older and became a real adult (whatever that means!), Christmas morphed into a thinly veiled competitive sport – each year buying more than the previous year, more than I could ever afford, to demonstrate my “love” for family members with things that they mostly didn’t even want or need. By my early 30s, after my grandfather died, I proudly embraced the role of Scrooge. I spent the holidays attending ugly Christmas sweater parties with my friends, getting plastered, eating too many Christmas cookies, and nursing days-long hangovers.
I was 36 when I celebrated my first Christmas as a mother. Penelope was just 10 months old and took some of her first steps in the living room at my then in-laws while we visited for a couple days to display the offerings of our annual spend-a-thon. Penelope was fascinated by the Christmas lights and the animated Christmas characters that were on display throughout the house. Seeing her face light up brought me back to the delight of the season that I had long ago forgotten. Her first Christmas renewed a tiny bit of my love for what could be wonderous about the season. That wonder grew each year as she got bigger, more vocal, and more involved in the festivities. So it went for those first three years of her life, until I collided into the Christmas when my marriage and my life split wide open.
The interim years between the divorce Christmas and this current Christmas have included a worldwide lockdown due to COVID, as you well know, dear reader. Those years, for me, were a blessing. They were rebuilding years – for myself, for my home, for my family. I’m one of the very lucky ones – for me, COVID highlighted how good I had it in so many aspects of life. I had a great job that I could keep as I worked from home. I had a wonderful social community of friends, neighbors, and chosen family who felt like more than I deserved to have. I knew so many others in the world who had no one, who were alone, who were struggling. I felt intensely grateful – if a little terrified of all the unknowns – during the first phases of the pandemic.
My ex-husband had purchased a home just ¾ of a mile away from the home we once shared (where I stayed) when he moved out in 2019. My mom lives close by in the same neighborhood, having moved to Charlottesville when I was pregnant with Penelope. During the first months of COVID, spring flowers and trees were budding all around us as we walked my daughter back and forth between her dad’s house, my house, and my mom’s house. (A former elementary school teacher, my mom was a huge help when schools were closed during the first months of the pandemic.) I rarely drove my car (which, to me, is the definition of pure bliss). I saw friendly neighbors everywhere I went. I had everything I needed within walking distance of my home. My mom, my ex, and I shared schooling duties, shared grocery deliveries, and supported each other in myriad ways during those first scary months. Life was scary, to be sure, but there were so many silver linings for me. The pandemic secured my bond with Penelope’s dad as chosen family, even if our marriage was officially over.
This year, Penelope and I spent Christmas Eve with her dad, his new fiance, and the woman I fell in love with four years ago, who is now my fiance. My ex and I ate together with everyone in the dining room of the home we used to share, along with a dear neighbor and my mom. It was mostly peaceful (aside from the customary screaming and shenanigans from Penelope). During dinner, Kevin shared stories of his grandmother – Penelope’s great grandmother – and we all talked about our plans for our respective weddings that will take place next year. My ex will get married in May of 2024; my fiance and I will become wives in November, we decided a few days before Christmas. The night felt warm and easy, aside from some of the usual annoyances of overstimulation and tiredness – my usual symptoms around the holidays. We are still a family, we’ve just added a few members over the years.
After we opened presents at Penelope’s dad’s house on Christmas morning, Penelope, Carolyn, and I flew out to California to be with her family. Outside of San Francisco, we’re having another holiday celebration with Carolyn’s two sisters, two nephews, brother-in-law, and Carolyn’s dad. Being together with their family is vastly different from what mine was always like – there’s a playfulness, a closeness, an ease. They relish in proximity during the few times a year they’re able to enjoy it. Penelope loves spending time with her new cousins, who are 6 and 9, and who love many of the same things she does. My partner is patient with me and my need for space around this new family that loves togetherness. This family creates space for me and us to integrate exactly as we are – even if it’s clunky and doesn’t always fit just right.
This year looks different – and surely the years to come will, too – than what I once thought life would look like. There are fractures that may never heal but there is so much new growth. I’m just as grateful for what has been lost as I am for what I’ve found and gained because of those losses.