Christmas Day 2016 will be my seventy-second Christmas.
I have been through the seasons of my childhood; I have been
through the seasons as a young adult; I have been through the seasons as a Mom;
I have been through the seasons as a Granny; I now face the season as …
whatever new me is emerging now.
I hardly remember a single solitary one of those seasons –
except perhaps for Christmas 1973. My infant daughter was hospitalized with
severe croup that night, and the roads were icy, and the trip from Lanesboro to
the hospital in Pittsfield was scary – and I remember that trip because my
father drove us all to Pittsfield and that made me feel safe. Oh! And Christmas
1999, a month after my father died. That was the saddest day ever. My daughter
went to Montana with her new husband; my mother was 150 miles away; and my
friend and I went to the movies and had dinner at a Chinese restaurant.
The rest of my Christmases are a blur of indistinct memories,
none particularly delightful. But I do remember that always, no matter what was
going on in our world, Jesus still had a birthday and little children awaited
Santa Claus.
I was a ‘War Baby’, born during the last legitimate war the
United States ever fought, the last declared by Congress. There have been other military conflicts in my
lifetime, but those were not declared wars – they were politically inspired or reactionary conflicts dreamed up in
Washington, designed to boost the American economy, and kill off a few young
men and women as population control, and to keep unemployment stable.
I was born three
months before Adolph Hitler committed suicide during the Battle of Berlin, four
months before VE Day – Germany’s surrender, the end of World War II in Europe; I
was born seven months before VJ Day, Japan’s surrender, the end of World War II
in the Pacific. I was born seven months before the Atom Bomb.
For my first five Christmases, I lived with my mother and
her parents in Fall River. I remember getting a rocking chair, a doll crib, and
a doll carriage – only because there are photos. My grandchildren have the
rocking chair and the crib now. The carriage is long gone.
My grandfather Connors was a stern, sober, religious Irishman,
but he kept a roof over our heads and food on the table. My father was a
Merchant Marine officer then. He was at sea more often than not, as he had been
since 1940 and for the duration of the last true war. He helped support our
household in Fall River, but he was rarely there. My mother would go to New
York to spend time with him when his ship was in at Pier 57.
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| Monica - Christmas 1947 in Fall River, MA |
After the war, my father sailed on merchant/passenger ships,
ships which carried both passengers and cargo. I really have no recollection of
his being with me for Christmas, and there are no photos of him at those times.
I am told he was there at Christmas 1949 – when he was deciding whether to
leave the sea because an American conflict was on the horizon in Korea. He’d
had enough of war and transporting soldiers to die in foreign lands. He had
left friends in Bataan to die there. He wanted no more of that. It seems I DO
remember ‘helping’ him to assemble a jig saw puzzle he had received for
Christmas that year.
By Christmas of 1950, we had moved to Attleboro, and my
father went to work at the electric company with his uncle. And the holiday life I
remember most had begun.
It was then, my sixth Christmas, when I began to develop my
love for the season of Advent. That time leading up to Christmas Eve became
somehow both holy and magical for me as we counted off the weeks with the
Advent wreath. I was in school, had developed a love for books, made some
friends I still love today, and spent a good deal of time in church – loving the
music and the flowers and the fellowship of the season. That Christmas I got my
birthstone ring. A garnet. I still have it. And I still love Advent.
After 1950, I do recall that Christmas Day was always a big tiresome
let-down for me. I dreaded it more each year. But, that made me love Advent all
the more. I had four weeks of joy, while others had but one day.
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| Monica - Christmas 1951, Attleboro, MA |
Regardless of the weather, we always spent Christmas Day on
the road. We were up very early to do a quick ‘Santa’ thing when I was younger,
and did our gifting on Christmas Eve when I was a little older. Off to Fall
River before noontime Christmas Day to spend time with my mother’s sister and
her brood of hellions, my Fitzgerald cousins. Christmas dinner there – always a
hassle of teaching her kids (eventually eight of them!) to behave at the table.
Intimidating. Unhappy. Yes, miserable at best.
Then after the havoc of the Fall River Christmas Day, we drove to
Brockton to visit with my father’s family and have a peaceful evening dinner
with all of them. I was always tired by that time of day, but those visits were relaxing
– the presents thoughtful – the people happy and hassle-free. I still have the
Chinese Checkers I received at one of those paternal side get-togethers. Then, we
went back to Attleboro late at night, and I was usually sleeping before my father put me in the car.
After my cousin Maureen was born on
December 26th, 1953, we had to make yet another trip to Fall River the day after
Christmas, so she could have a separate birthday celebration. So you see,
Christmas Eve was my last real moment of Peace.
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| Monica - Christmas Eve 1953, Attleboro, MA |
Little wonder that after 1967, more than a quarter century later, when I was a woman grown, married,
and eventually with my own home and family – I refused to leave my home at
Christmastime for any reason. But I still celebrated Advent with a solemn
joyous passion. Christmas Eve meant entertaining, presents, lovely
centerpieces, good wine, and generally the homey atmosphere that I
missed in my own childhood. Those were the best Christmas years ever. Even the
year my baby was sick, we were home. We were with family. We had had a special
Advent season.
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| Monica - Christmas Eve 1967, Fort Lewis, WA |
Eventually, things change. Life changes – sometimes
suddenly, sometimes so gradually you barely notice. That Christmas season of
1999 was the end of the twenty or so years of Christmas the way I loved it
most. Oh yes – and I worked outside my home during those two decades. After my daughter was in her
teens, I always volunteered to stay in the office, or take the on-call, while my
colleagues partied or went home to their own young children. It was my gift to
them. I didn’t believe in celebrating the coming of Christ with a hangover. I
did believe that children are little for such a short time – that young parents
needed to spend time with them as I had done in earlier years.
My first grandchild was born in 2003. For twelve years now, I
have visited my grandchildren in their own home every single Christmas
Eve. Christmas Day in their home was for Santa and presents and visiting with
their father’s family, but Christmas Eve was for us, their Mom’s family, our gifts and our
love. It was a very special decade or so. I didn’t mind the travel – for it
meant they could be at home with their parents, their tree, and their pets, and their presents.
This year, my grandchildren aren’t little ones any more. They
will spend Christmas week in St. Thomas with their father. Yet, we have had a
good Advent season, feeling our way through our new holiday reality. We have no more big presents to buy for anyone. No big
meals to plan. No need to gift the grandchildren before Epiphany.
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| Christmas 2014 with grandchildren - Galway, NY |
We’ve given
our bigger gifts to charity this year. And we adopted a young kitty. Maybe my daughter
will be with us for Christmas Eve, maybe not – I certainly hope she will – we have the
new kitty for her to meet. We’ll probably go to that Chinese restaurant again. And
we will look forward to whatever is to become our new concept of Christmas. But –
Advent – that will never change. I will always have that special time leading
up to Christmas Eve.
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| Merry Christmas - 2016 |
MRP
