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My story is no different to many people’s stories, but it is still mine no less. To begin with, I’m a deeply sentimental person. Every life experience, happy or sad, gets boxed and shelved in various recesses of my mind, sometimes to be hauled out at need or when the tight control I generally exercise gets momentarily disengaged.
As it is, I also have the gift or curse of experiencing feelings so deeply they are palpable, well at least only to me and the few closest to me. And they are very few. Fortunately, my character and life experiences have taught me to school my feelings in order to survive and even thrive. I virtually live successfully in various worlds and have several faces.
So you can imagine that the Christmas period and similar dates, evoke quite strong emotional responses in me. My feelings fluctuate from sweet sentiment to sheer gut wrenching pain that is almost debilitating. My memories, I must admit, play a major role in this see-sawing of feelings. One of my successful outlets has been journaling which I’m engaging in for this piece.
Back to my Christmas story. When I was growing up Christmas meant going to church to celebrate the birth of Christ, new clothes and crazy amounts of my mother’s amazing cooking. In the afternoon, our family would either visit friends or we would host friends. And of course our homes were decorated to suit. No Christmas presents, though. It was a happy and innocent time.
Fast forward to 2014 and things are starkly different. My parents have long passed and so has the innocence of my youth. I’m now a parent, and all my siblings, exceptt for one have also departed. And for years I’ve done fairly well to maintain the required light heartedness and joy of the festive season. The reason for this was my daughter. I had a duty to create great memories for her and I think I’ve done a great job.
As for me, Christmas presents were never my thing as I wasn’t raised with their expectation or tradition. However, I’m a sucker for Christmas messages – sending and receiving. I also still expect the day to be awash with copious amounts of great food and sitting around with my family catching up and rehashing old stories, etc. I don’t go to church any more though, except for special occasions but Christmas is not one of them. I still believe in God and everything I was taught.
But going to church, even on Christmas day, on the other hand has always been a tricky thing with me, even as a child. I learned the trick to ‘surviving’ mass, that is, sleeping through the entire ceremony. This would include the kneeling, standing, sitting, etc. that Catholics go through at each service. Despite this, I raised my daughter in the church and she went all the way with her catechism.
So come, Christmas eve, I will cook and bake up a storm fit enough to serve an entire army! On Christmas morning, my daughter and I will pack up everything in the car and drive two and half hours to my home town. My family claim to love my cooking. As proof of this, my legion of nephews and nieces will descend upon my family home for the festivities of the birth of Christ. I will laugh and smile a lot and my heart will lift and I will feel connected.
What is the moral of this little tale? None, unless you find something in it for yourself as a reader! For me this is a cathartic exercise to help me through the season. For all of us going through stuff at the moment, my message is a simple one – Joy To The World!
