I’m finding it impossible to muster any Christmas cheer this year. I have no interest in decorating, or singing, or taking care of Christmas cards, all things I will eventually have to do so that my son doesn’t end up disappointed. However, I’ve never been good at acting. And I don’t know where I will find the energy to do any of it. I’m digging deep into my reserves as it is just to get up in the morning and push through the day so that I can play teacher.
This was the weekend Dad used to take us into Manhattan so that his grandson could see the Christmas tree, light candles in St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and have lunch at a fancy restaurant. For ten years, starting when G3 was only eleven months old, we took the trip into the city. If someone had told me twelve months ago, when Dad paid for my son and I to go ice skating at Rockefeller Center, that it would be our very last trip, I wouldn’t have believed them. We’d visit Manhattan on Saturday, and then on Sunday we’d bake Christmas cookies, and decorate Mom and Dad’s Christmas tree. Daddy always loved going through the decorations and reliving the memories attached to them. He was very particular about how we decorated — it drove me crazy. We had to do the balls first — small ones on top, medium ones in the middle, large ones at the bottom. They were his favorite, and they had so many of them that once the balls were up the tree looked decorated — but it wasn’t. We then moved on to all the other decorations until there were no bare branches. This year, Mom will have no tree.
Yesterday, it rained all day. I spent the morning and early afternoon cleaning the Mattituck house and running errands. When I finished, I tried to get my son to play games. We played two rounds of Rummikub and he was done. All he wanted to do was watch movies, so we had a Marvel marathon. We watched, Avengers, Age of Ultron, and then Civil War. That’s more than seven hours of movie watching, by far a record for me. I generally have difficulty paying attention for two hours. But my son was mopey. He wanted nothing but Ironman and cuddles. So we sat in Dad’s chair and I surprised myself by not falling asleep.
This morning, we drove to Queens. Mom has a doctor’s appointment with a plastic surgeon tomorrow to have her fractured nose looked at. I didn’t think there was anything you could do for a broken nose. I guess I was wrong. Anyway, she needs me to drive her which is why we are here.
My son was excited when we arrived because, as always, St. Nick left him some gifts here as well as at home. Mom couldn’t easily reach the Christmas decorations in the garage, and after her fall she wasn’t going to make an attempt. Therefore, she bought my son a snowman stocking so that St. Nick would have somewhere to leave his gifts. He got a compass which made him very happy. He really wanted one for Boy Scouts. He also got the Best of Pink Floyd. Of course, St. Nick also left oranges and lots of chocolate. Dad’s absence hung heavily in the living room as my son opened his gifts. My mom made an effort to smile, but I could see she was as sad as I. Like me, she is going through the motions so as not to disappoint her grandson.
After dinner, we watched a documentary on General Grant. Dad had recorded it months and months ago so that he could watch it with his grandson. Mom had finally reached a point where she could bring herself to sit and watch it with us.
Tomorrow, it will be eight months since Daddy died.
Elizabeth Jaeger 