Killing Christmas
It wasn’t by design, it just happened. My son opted out of everything to focus on his misery. My daughter opted out for friendships and booze. My ex-girlfriend stopped by and left a lingering smell of love and loss. The only ones excited about Christmas this year, and they don’t even know it yet, are my two rescue cats, Sid and Hunter.
They are getting an ornamental fountain that’s going to provide and delight them with an endless supply of running water, burbling and calling them to drink their fill.
One present to wrap. Two, if you count the one for the cats. My daughter has already gotten her real present. A nice white pair of tennis shoes she picked out will give her something to unwrap tomorrow when we meet around lunchtime. She’s with her mom. I have no idea what my son is doing or if he’s planning on leaving the unhappy cocoon of his sober house. He’s either kicked out in a few days or… I’m out of the loop.
Mom has taken the reigns again. Last time it ended up in the emergency room and off to rehab. This time she just wants to manage without my input. As she did shortly after asking for a divorce. She’s a mess. And thinking she has a clue about my son’s ailments; well, she’s part of them.
I heard no carols this year. Hung no cheer. I do have a small Christmas tree. I haven’t put it on the floor so the cats can knock it over. At the moment they are warming on my legs as I type. I am content. I lack for nothing. I want no presents. That’s good because none are coming.
I’ll wait until another Christmas, later, that I can celebrate with a lover, a future lover, at some point. I’ll stay in for now. Happy. Rested. No additional overhead on my credit cards.
I wish joy for all of those around me. Even my ex-wife and her husband. They appear to be doing their best. It’s odd, but hey, it’s family.
I revise my statement. I did not kill Christmas or Christ. I’m simply on a different wavelength. Consumerism is not my favorite show of support. Retail therapy is something my ex-wife contributed to our two kids’ constellation of consciousness. Go shopping. Buy. Maybe a new pair of shoes, she whispers frequently. I have indulged my daughter’s cravings on occasion. I am learning to curb my own.
It is a time of austerity and peace. No one to care for except two blessings that appear in my life as happy cats. And a hug from my daughter tomorrow will put a bow on the season for me. My mom would always complain that I didn’t put enough ribbons and bows on my Christmas wrapping. I still don’t. There’s still time. Might wrap the tennis shoes in the morning.
Ho Ho Ho.
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