“It’s the most wonderful time of the year.”
Or is it?
Not for this little lady, it’s not. “Why?” you ask? Allow me to turn back the pages of history.
When I was a little girl, the holidays followed a certain, predictable routine with many traditions. My parents were divorced, so our time was divided between the two sides of the family.
Thanksgiving was spent with my Dad’s family until I was a teenager. My Dad’s family would rent out an LDS church in Pocatello and we would all meet there for a huge family get together. It was more family reunion than typical holiday dinner, but it was wonderful for a child. Tables and tables of food lined up, relatives all over the place delighted to see you (with obligatory squeezing of the cheeks), children running around like maniacs. We were set up in the gym and free to run around as we pleased. We’d often go up on the stage and try to get as much attention as humanly possible. The adults smiled and permitted us this silly indulgence. After many hours at the church, we would get bundled up and make the drive back to Idaho Falls, to our Mom’s house.
Christmas Eve was spent alternately at my maternal and paternal grandparents homes. This was a more traditional family get together- grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins. One of the things I recall most clearly from my Christmas Eve dinners at the Hansens were my grandfather’s epic blessings. We would all get down on our knees at our chairs, clasp our hands, and bow our heads, and hear all that he was thankful for that year. At the five minute mark, the kids would start making goofball faces at each other under the table…wondering how much longer it would go on. Just as we were certain he would thank God for each and every blade of grass, he would conclude, “We say these things humbly, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”
We would feast, clear the table, and begin our endless and mindless games of UNO, in later years Nertz. (I kicked ass at Nertz; I had the fastest hands in the family.) The Hansens are lifelong card players and they still talk about my Nertz dominance when we get together. I don’t recall playing card games with my Mom’s family, the Lemmons. Another guarantee at the Hansens was my grandmother sneaking into the kitchen repeatedly for fudge and us teasing her unmercifully about it. The kids would take turns playing cards with the adults and would spend the “down time” running around in endless circles in my grandparent’s house. Kids love to run around in circles in houses, I’ve discovered. We were hopped up on sugar, excited to spend time with cousins we saw only a few times a year, and in a house filled with love.
At my Granny’s house (the Lemmons- also in Pocatello), we would feast then scatter to various rooms in the house. The smokers would do their “closet” smoking outside after dinner, then come back to chatter in the living room. The kids would hang out in the play room, taking turns abusing the upright piano with our clumsy, self-taught Christmas music, speculating on what Santa Claus might be bringing us that year, being silly girls (my sister and cousin, Shannon, always fought over who was allowed to have pink as a favorite color; my cousin, Alissa, and I were content to share green). All my maternal cousins are girls. We would pick on the youngest cousin; twas a right of passage. Following dinner and treats, talking and playing, we would brave the inclement weather and treacherous roads back to Idaho Falls.
Another holiday tradition was making Christmas ornaments at my Granny’s house. Each year, all us girls would get dropped off with Granny and she would patiently walk us through the craft of her choice. Some were successful and lovely, others were, well, comedic. We treasured that time together with her. We also spent that day decorating her living room and her Charlie Brown Christmas tree. This ornament-making tradition is one that I have made sure to keep with me over the years with my own little family.
At Granny’s, we would also make cookies, fudge, and divinity. I loved spending time at Granny’s side in the kitchen. I think all of us girl’s were convinced we were Granny’s favorite because she made us all feel so special and gave us her undivided attention. In reality, she was the best grandmother one could be, loving each of her granddaughters equally.
Christmas morning we opened gifts and then either drove back to Granny’s house or to my Dad’s house, depending on the year, to open gifts from extended family members. The day after Christmas was always…blah. “Oh, it’s over? What now?”
New Years Eve was variable, once again, but New Years Day meant a trip to Granny’s house for Aebleskivers. How funny is it that the Scottish side of the family made Aebleskivers, but not the Swedish side? Anyway, it was a New Years tradition, one that I perpetuate to this day, as does my sister.
Many wonderful memories, countless stories, love and joy and what does that equal? A magical time of year for a little girl. A time of year I looked forward to above all others. A holiday spirit that would ‘infect’ me each year, even as an adult. Until Granny died.
With her passing, the family fell apart. She was the matriarch who held us all together, the glue. After her passing, I rarely saw my relatives on my Mother’s side of the family. It was very difficult, as she was like a second mother to me. I still did my best to remain cheerful at the holidays and even did a passable job. Until Christmas 2003.
That year we had driven up to Idaho to spend it with my family. We got there on December 23rd and I drove to visit my Dad that night. He looked great- the best I had seen him in years. I was so happy because his health had been on the rocks so much in the past. I really thought he had turned a corner. Christmas Eve, we were driving out to go skiing when we got a call from my Mom that my grandparents were frantically trying to reach me. I thought that something happened to my Grandma- she looked awful when I saw her the night before. When I call them, though, I got the shock of a lifetime. My grandpa told me that my Dad died early that morning. I spent the rest of the holidays making funeral arrangements.
The holidays were infinitely more difficult from that point forward. Most years, we drove up to Idaho to spend them with my Mom and step-dad. She did her best to keep things light and from dwelling on those who we’d lost. It was what it was. I still had moments of joy, especially when my kids would open their gifts Christmas morning. I still had tradition and family and felt some holiday spirit. Christmas 2006 was the last time I had that.
My Mom died very suddenly in June 2007 (a story for another day). Since then, the holidays have been bleak. A time of tears and depression which I must endure. I feel horrible. I feel like it’s this special time of the year, this magical time, and I spend it putting on the best facade possible. I would love for things to turn around and each year, I try hard to improve my state of mind. To remind myself that my loved ones would want me to be happy. But it’s difficult. I miss them so.
I remain hopeful for the New Year, for a chance to improve myself, for brighter days.
I’ll end with a song a friend recently introduced to me. It’s non-traditional and lovely and gives me more joy than most any other ones at the moment. “White Wine in the Sun” by Tim Minchin.
Serafin worked tirelessly to help him out and thanks to the kindness of more strangers, 
