Christmas Ghost BustersPosted: December 3, 2012
I am not a Scrooge. I may say a lot of Scrooge-like things around this time of year but that’s only because I, too, am haunted by the Ghost-of-Christmas-Present and the Ghost-of-Christmas-Past. So much so that some years I host my own personal little Occupy Christmas movement to protest the bastardization of a season meant to be a celebration of the coming of the Christ. I don’t put up a tree or send cards or string lights. I don’t play carols or give gifts or make sausage balls or gingerbread or hot spiced tea. This doesn’t actually solve anything but as the song says, “whatever gets you through the night” or the unbearably long over-commercialized holiday season that appears to begin some time immediately preceding Halloween.
This, apparently, is not one of my Occupy Christmas years as I’ve already hung lights on the decks of the beach house, attended a Mannheim Steamroller concert, and stocked the Frig with eggnog. Still, the Ghosts are hovering and the days are filled with reminders of why I find this season to be so noxious.
This week the Ghost-of-Christmas-Present introduced me to the lady seated to my right at Shrek the Musical. As I was squeezing my way past and back to my seat after intermission, she leaned in and said, “You’re tapping your heels to the music, I’m sure you don’t even realize, but could you possibly stop? It’s bothering me.”
Seriously? One has to wonder what she was even doing at a show like Shrek. Does she sound like the kind of person who would be entertained by public farting to you? (Afterwards, I impersonated her using the voice of Gingy the Gingerbread Man and felt ever so much better.) Being a notorious people pleaser, I did cease the tapping and the earth miraculously resumed its rotation around her.
The Ghost-of-Christmas-Present is after my sister too. In mortal dread of the holiday, she asked Bryce, her psychiatrist, to add Lamictal to her bipolar cocktail. I had to break the news to Jerri over Thanksgiving that she couldn’t spend Christmas at the beach with us because Stan’s brother and family are scheduled to visit. I feel incredibly guilty when she has to spend Christmas alone. She’s had to do that most years over the past two decades because she’s purposely excluded from family gatherings. So am I, but to be honest, for me its mostly a relief.
The Ghost-of-Christmas-Past has started whispering in my ear, reminding me that the event that shredded our family fabric occurred the Christmas Stan and I tried to treat everyone to a week at the Outer Banks. She reminds me of all the sadness and confusion at Christmas I endured as a child due to mom’s depression and overcompensation for parenting sins throughout the rest of the year. She reminds me that it was Christmas when I first realized my parents were never going to love me, no matter how hard I tried, that they really didn’t even understand the word, let alone, the emotion. The-Ghost-of-Christmas-Present chimes in and says, “They’ve totally replaced you and Jerri with her children. They have a new family now. They don’t even miss you.”
Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!
This year I refuse to listen. I also refuse to kill myself trying to have the BEST Christmas EVER. I refuse to feel guilty because I can’t make Jerri happy. I give myself permission to do the things that I can manage, to spend as much time alone as I need, to celebrate with people who may not be my blood relatives but are family all the same.
Tonight is the first night of Advent. And even through I’m not Catholic, or Lutheran, or any Protestant faith that traditionally celebrates Advent, tonight I will light a purple candle and read Isaiah 9 about the Light of the World who has penetrated the darkness. I will remember again how Israel longed for the birth of its Messiah and I will savor the longing in my own heart for His return.
O come, O come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear.
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.