Something is missing but isn't

One of my favourite bloggers wrote of her Christmas with her husband and children saying because she was so far away from home that something or more important several someones seemed to be missing.

She is right.

Years ago I discovered that Christmas carries the past with it, not just one holiday but them all. I tripped over the discovery when I was emailing to a friend in the States as she was decorating her tree and we were sharing memories of annual tree trimmings at her parents’ house followed by a take-away Chinese dinner. Although they were deceased, they were there with her and, despite an ocean’s separation, with me.

Each year, although it broke in childhood, the pink Venetian glass bird’s nest nestled in gold mesh is silently put on my tree in memory. My grandmother, Dar, who died shortly after my daughter was born, is there in her apron and housedresses admiring the decorations each year before she goes to baste a turkey.

My step-mom’s father Jack, rushes upstairs to get the jar of pennies for the poker game with my aunts and uncles, a tradition in my father’s house, although I suspect if there is a heaven they are up there playing with Jack winning as he chews on his stogey.

Somewhere nearby is the green and white ring thing, a kazoo that my ex-husband bought and drove me crazy with hints and even if our marriage ended badly, it wasn’t so bad that some good memories don’t come in.

Also present from a year long ago is the gingerbread house we made, or the year that Nikki the German Shepherd ate its corner. The house had gone throuhg several Christmases. In fact that first year sugar was expensive and money was tight, so it was not entirely decorated. Each year thereafter new decorations were added. Nikki’s snack made it the first year the house was decreased.

And it is the people still living that are far away that shared past Christmases that are also missing and with me at the same time.

So my young friend is right, something or someone is missing, always missing. Her girls are too young to know that yet.

The secret is to realise how precious each minute is as we take out the past memories and let them fill the space we occupy now. Not quite as good as being able to give them a hug, or reach out and touch a hand, hear a laugh or the sound of the rum-ta-ta-tum of Sam singing Little Drummer Boy, but it will do.