I borrow this line from Charles Dickens. As this year draws to a close, and we celebrate another Christmas together with family and/or friends or alone in some cases, I am reminded of all those who are no longer with us physically. People say they are with us in spirit, and I know they are. But I miss their physical presence at Christmas, starting with my parents (my father passed away forty years ago and my mother twenty-four years ago) and my brother who passed away ten years ago. I carry on the traditions I grew up with (Christmas tree, decorating the house, buying a panettone, making cookies), and luckily I am married to a man who appreciates the importance of traditions and whose family had their own traditions. It's never been a problem to combine our different approaches, and if anything, it's made celebrating Christmas that much nicer. I miss my husband's father who passed away thirteen years ago. I introduced him to panettone and he was hooked from the first bite. He loved all things Italian, but he loved a lot of things about America, among them the variety of pies that we have. I miss my husband's aunt who passed away in January of this year; she spent many Christmases with us, first with her husband who passed away seventeen years ago, and then alone with us after he died. She would come to our house for a few days and we would enjoy preparing for Christmas together. When I stand in my kitchen now during this holiday season, I remember them all. I remember them making pies, making struffoli, peeling and prepping vegetables, and making holiday dinners. They are memories that 'bless and burn' as my mother used to say. My mother said so many wise things, and I remember her for that and so much more. She loved Christmastime and all the preparations during Advent. What I remember too about my parents is that they shared their faith, together and with us. They were not afraid to practice their faith, and that is a gift for which I am forever grateful.
The ghosts of Christmases past. The spirits of those whom I've known and loved. For me, the ghosts are not there to show me what I could have done better in the past, as the ghost in Charles Dickens' The Christmas Carol does with Scrooge. I am acutely aware of the ways in which the past could have been better, but for the most part, the past as I remember it, together with family and friends, was a happy and innocent time until we moved on with our own lives. The darkness of life had not yet invaded our individual lives. Family problems were present but not overwhelming. We went to church and shared our faith with other believers. We sang carols and Christmas hymns at mass. We admired the life-size creche that the church set up every year. Those times were special, if for no other reason than that we were young and life was still ahead of us.
We celebrated Christmas Day with our individual families, but in the evening, after the big dinner was eaten, we met our friends and walked around the neighborhood, laughing and chatting. Some years there was a lot of snow, so we made snowballs and tossed them at one another. My brother was often with us. Friends were family too. I look at photos from that time, where my friends are sitting on our living room floor while my parents and my aunt are sitting on the sofa behind them. Sometimes we visited our friends' houses, where their parents had made a feast (and some great desserts), and we enjoyed them too.
The past is a place I visit at this time of year, at least in my heart. I carry the memories of those I've loved and who loved me, and who are now deceased, and I think about them during my day. Their spirits remain, their wisdom and kindness remain, their individualities remain. I am the sum of all of them, because all of them have helped to shape me. My life is richer because they were and are a part of it.
I wish all my readers a joyful Christmas, wherever you are in the world.
