Christmas, Covid & Bomb Cyclones

When my twin sister phoned just before Christmas to say her husband was Covid positive, I laughed. The call was déjà vu: familiar, disruptive, and disappointing. While I found it ridiculous that Covid was still interfering with holidays and family get togethers, my sister’s announcement was also sobering. It meant that they wouldn’t host Christmas Eve dinner and would be absent from remaining holiday gatherings. 

I hung up with my sister and frowned at the dining room table. It was piled high with holiday dishes and glassware. In a flash, my Christmas plans had diminished. My gaze lingered over my husband’s chair at the end of the long table–a place that would be empty this year due to his recent death from cancer. 

And just beyond the cluttered dining room, flat gray skies consumed the horizon. I studied the cloud’s movement. My mind picked up another concern. A bomb cyclone was churning across the country, bringing snow, bone-chilling temperatures and dangerous ice and wind. Road travel and flight delays were a certainty. I hung my head. 

How many family members would in fact be able to gather around me this year? 

The winter storm’s timing was brutal. This was my first Christmas as a surviving spouse. Spending it alone would be a cruel joke. All these stressors–Covid, the bomb cyclone, the holidays, grief– were testing my mettle. I sat still and puzzled the situation.

Before my sister called with her Covid news, I’d been pulling out Christmas decorations from the storage area. Each box that I had lugged into the living room fanned a vicious internal debate. 

“You don’t need all this stuff. Just set out a few things. It’s a small group. No one will care. And it’s only going to be up for a week. So, why bother?”

Yet, I reminded myself how important decorating for the holidays had been to me in the years when my husband and I were raising our four children. Admittedly, I was struggling with ambivalence this year, but I still wanted the house to be festive for my guests–however many that turned out to be. 

Stay busy and stay positive has been my mantra these last ten months. So why let Covid and weather alter that now?

I switched on the Country Christmas Music channel, drowning out anymore Grinch-like dialogue, and set to work. I promised myself that I would pull out whatever holiday decorations felt right and stop when the task became emotionally burdensome.  

A small, artificial pre-lit tree came out of the box easily enough. Setting it up by myself was a piece of cake, too. I paused before plugging it in. Honestly, much was riding on that moment–like my frustration level and the extent of my decorating efforts. 

My spirits soared when the whole thing sprang to life. The corner of the living room was aglow with pure white sparkly lights. That small success was enough to buoy me. I dug into other dusty cartons, pulling out ornaments, stockings, scented candles, and a smattering of Santas from my ever-growing collection. 

After about an hour, I surveyed my work. Even though I had only tapped into a fraction of the holiday boxes, the place looked festive enough. The tree was small, but the lights worked. I hadn’t collapsed in a tearful heap with each ornament that emerged from its tissue. To the contrary, the whole experience felt like a bunch of old friends had dropped in for a welcome and timely visit.

Decorating my home during the numerous stressors of this holiday season taught me several things. Being surrounded by familiar family heirlooms at a tender time is healing. The dread I felt and the wonder about how I’d manage this first holiday season without my spouse evaporated. Honoring family traditions and welcoming guests–the four or five unaffected by Covid or a bomb cyclone–were a recipe for joy.

This story began with Covid for a reason. Covid taught us all that we can still be celebratory, even if it means less. Less people around. Less than what we are used to. We have all had to reach deep within ourselves to make our circumstances positive. What we never imagined can become reality. Both good and bad. And we will champion adversity because there is no way around it. 

Resilience is learned. Hope is our superpower.

In a few more days, 2022 will be long gone. I’m eager for the fresh start that 2023 offers. I have a new grandson coming, a new memoir to finish, and travel to book. I hope you have good things planned, too!

Cheers readers!

ON ANOTHER NOTE:

I will be cutting back on my published essays/blogs in 2023. Instead of every week, you will receive these bi-weekly. This change doesn’t mean I will be writing less– I’ll just be focusing more of my efforts on finishing my next book, a coming-of-age-memoir (somewhat of a prequel to Twice a Daughter) due out in 2024.

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On January 9th, Julie will be guest on the Florida Writer’s Podcast with host Alison Nissen.

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