As each festive season begins, I always seem to find myself missing my deceased mother and father, as well as my grandparents. I’m not sure what it is about this time of the year, but I know there are many just like myself, who experience the very same thing, which I call the holiday blues.
While it’s been almost a decade now since my mother passed, and almost two since my father did, what I feel most during this time of the year is actually not any pain because they’re gone. Instead, it’s my longing for some of the warm family get-togethers we had way back then. Although my family was quite dysfunctional with our fair share of drama, the holidays were generally a time of the year where it was noticeably absent.
For Thanksgiving we travelled each year to my grandmother’s home in Glen Cove, NY where we’d spend a few days connecting with my father’s side of the family. Although my sister doesn’t share the same fond memories that I have of these trips, I treasure the recollections that remain in my brain of those few days we experienced once a year. Every morning I got to be greeted there by the delectable smell of freshly baked popovers and homemade oatmeal with brown sugar and raisins. During the day I’d get to play many tournaments of Ping-Pong in the basement with each of my family members. And during the evening, we’d all sit in the parlor playing various card or board games where laughter arose more than not. On Thanksgiving Day itself I’d spend hours watching the Macy’s parade in New York City until the moment arrived to consume the bountiful meal in the ornate dining room. Ironically, my sister still uses to this very day, the very same table where we ate each of those meals. And last but not least my father would take me on an adventure the day after Thanksgiving to a jewelry store nearby that had a bowl of cubic zirconia mixed in with a few real diamonds. Customers would get a single chance to reach in that bowl, and although I never won the real thing, it was still exciting to me, just as much as it was for me when we returned home to Poughkeepsie, when our Christmas decorating would promptly begin.
My father and I began that task outside where we would put up strands of those old large colorful bulbs along the gutters and bushes facing the street, while inside my mother and sister would adorn the house with the rest of the holiday décor. I loved smelling the scented peppermint candles they would place around the house or gaze at the carefully crafted wooden manger set they would display. We all helped to decorate the artificial tree, which consistently dazzled blue, since that was my mother’s favorite color. And nearby it was the louvers to the laundry room that would become the temporary home for the hundred plus holiday cards we received. But my two most favorite items included a candelabrum that when lit, would spin some angels around as each lightly struck some tiny bell, as well as a holiday tree calendar that each of us took turns day-by-day pinning an item on it until December 24th. And ironically, this is the one thing I still proudly display in my own home each year. When that eve before Christmas finally came, it was also a special time in my home because my mother’s side of the family would arrive from Houston, TX just in time to enjoy a Mexican feast that was always extremely delicious. I treasured that dinner as much as I did spending the rest of the night in the family room playing the piano and singing carols with everyone else. I also enjoyed leaving the cookies and milk out for Santa and staring at the base of our tree overflowing with so many presents as I went up to bed. I usually awoke early on Christmas Day as the smells of my mother’s famous egg bake wafted upstairs. When my sister and I were finally allowed to come downstairs, we were allowed to open our stockings, which always had plenty of goodies to eat or play with. The rest of the day consisted of eating a large breakfast, opening presents which would last an hour or more, and then playing with whatever new toys or games I received until our turkey feast was ready. And Christmas Day would end in the same way each year as I scarfed down a large piece of my mother’s famous Grasshopper Pie, which to this day, I’ve never had anyone be able to make it quite like her.
So as I sit here writing about each of these fond holiday recollections, I definitely do feel the holiday blues somewhat because of my missing my family and the good times I had with them during this time of the season. But I’m grateful that I do remember them though because I used to spend this time of the year thinking only of the pain and anger they brought me. I guess that just goes to show how much I’ve actually healed in my life and although I may have some of these holiday blues as I reflect upon all of this, I’m extremely grateful for the new family I’m building. It’s one that includes my partner Chris, as well as a few other loved ones from my life in recovery. With each, I’m creating new happy holiday memories now and it’s through them that I know I’ll be able to overcome any of those holiday blues.
Peace, love, light, and joy,
Andrew Arthur Dawson
