THE PAIN OF CHRISTMAS

There comes a time in our lives when we say goodbye to traditions we hold dear. That disconnection is very painful. It hurts when you see a child grow into an adult, when unquestioned reliance becomes shattered by his or her own personal knowledge.

As we are getting ready for the holidays, TLW (The Little Woman) reminded me that I had to pick up both my sons from different locations within hours of each other. The Christmas/New Year holidays were upon us, and so we would all join together as a family once more, for the last time.

It seems that #1 Son will be married soon, and this will be his last season with us, to decorate the tree, to live out another holiday in peace and experience the joy we all hold so close to our breasts. The little boy with the blond hair and the quick movements to please his mother and cranky father has grown into a man and is no longer going to be ‘of this family’, but will start his own, with his own traditions, memories and joys.

When TLW mentioned to me that this was the last of it, a sudden sadness fell from my chest to my stomach. I recall sitting so peacefully in my chair on Christmas morning, watching my wife and kids have Christmas.

I remember one Christmas morning in particular, they were maybe 2 and 3, or 3 and 4, and #1 Son was fully aware of Santa for the first time. He jumped around the living room, in his red plaid pants and red jacket, happily climbing into the seat of a little piano, and they off to another toy. It was very magical for me.

Then as he grew up, he started to make little tree decorations that we hung with care, to this very day. They are more precious to us as the years go by. Touched by little hands, those same hands revisited those same decorations every year since.

And the other guy, #2 Son! I thought I would live forever when he was born. He was going to be special in his own way, his own man so to speak. He too built a collection of Christmas memories that hang for me to remember.

There is nothing like a child at Christmas. It was a holiday that was reverent, and given to children to celebrate. The magic, the memories, the pure joy of living to see your children experience it, and now it will be cut away a little.

There is something I would want buried with me. Not money, not pictures, or religious articles, but one ornament each from my children. They were made with love and with uninhibited emotions of joy and love. That is what I want to take with me.

Then I can “Sleep in heavenly peace.”