Ghosts of Christmas Past

We all have ghosts of Christmas past and most of them visit unexpectedly.  Unlike the ghosts that visit Ebenezer Scrooge who is warned about their impending arrival, mine sneak up on me. The older I get the more Christmases I accumulate, and the more likely I am to be haunted by what was, or what might have been. I have time alone to reflect and ruminate, I am susceptible to fits of melancholia and nostalgia.

The last time I celebrated Christmas with my daughter was 2007.  As Rachel opened her gifts carefully and slowly, taking pains not to rip the paper, my partner began screaming at her to hurry up, and just open the presents. I knew at that moment it would be the last Christmas we would spend together as a family, though I didn’t realize it would be the last Christmas I’d spend with Rachel.  I miss her on Christmas morning, though I miss her every morning she doesn’t wake up in my house.

Holidays are as special as we choose to make them. We grow up in families that celebrate in all sorts of ways, and as we get older, or we lose a generation they change, we change, the way we celebrate changes. When I was small we had a Christmas tree and gifts under it. We got a real tree, and called it a Christmas tree, not a Hanukkah bush. There were beautiful glass ornaments, and tinsel, and even stockings hung over the fireplace. As teenagers we sat our parents down and explained that we were Jewish, and that we didn’t want a tree. Years later when I asked my (step)mom what had happened to those beautiful ornaments she snapped “You people told me you didn’t want a tree anymore so I gave them away.” I felt like crying, they were a part of my past I wanted to access, and they were gone.

I don’t remember many specific Christmas mornings with my mother, there were only six, but I do remember the one when I got a set of Lionel Trains. I think I was five, and I have a feeling that though my dad got them for me, they were something he had always wanted. He had assembled them and there they were on Christmas morning, it was the most exciting gift I had ever gotten. Eventually the trains went to my brother who had a greater appreciation for all things train-related.

One Christmas I was in Paris. I went to visit one of my best friends, and when I arrived he told me he would be leaving to go to Switzerland with his host family to ski the Alps, but would return the day after Christmas; he was sure I would understand why he couldn’t pass up this opportunity. Of course I said I did, but I really didn’t, not at all. Fortunately for me their au pair Susan was staying in the city with her friends who were visiting, and they invited me to spend the holiday with them. We went to a midnight mass, and had a wonderful meal and it even snowed which I hear is rare.

These days I hope for an invitation to spend the holiday with friends. Over the years those invitations have always come, and each year when they arrive I exhale in the way you do when you didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath. Each year since 2008, I have dreaded spending Christmas alone. I don’t want a day that invites the ghosts of Christmas past I dare not speak of. This year I will spend Christmas Eve day in my PJs, eating whatever I want, and listening to my favorite annual radio program on WXPN; The Night Before, and for Christmas I will be with dear friends.

May all your visits from ghosts of Christmas past be good ones. MERRY CHRISTMAS