What I Want For Christmas

I can honestly say that this is the first time in three years that I am actually looking forward to spending time with family during the holidays. Not just family; people in general. I can’t put my finger on why exactly, but the prospect of mingling amongst my blood isn’t accompanied by a feeling of obligation or “Crap! Do I really hafta? Can’t I just stay home in bed?”

It’s exactly two weeks to the third anniversary of the Bunny’s death. It’s also Thanksgiving Day. I realized recently that my worldview is no longer seen through a prism of “the accident” – it’s now seen through “my new life.” And because I seemed to have done a decent job so far (knock on wood) of getting that life in order, I’m feeling… good. Strong. Dare I say it? Happy.

Earlier I was having dinner at my Tia Fatima and Tio Cacho’s house. For those of you who are neither Latino or Hispanic, that’s aunt and uncle. The house was full of familiar faces – my cousin Adriana and her new husband Hector (at whose wedding I sang for several months ago), my other cousin Dario and his girlfriend Niki (who I always tease because Dario is super tall – probably 6’ 5” at least, maybe taller; and Niki is 5’-nothing standing next to him). In addition there were a few more of my aunts on the Argentinean side (my Tio Cacho is my mom’s only brother) and their respective husbands, children, and even a few grandkids running around; little girls, who for five hours straight played hide-and-seek, ran from room to room, giggling and screaming with joy. It brought more than one smile to my face.

After the first part of the meal (the one with the turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn on the cob, salad, cranberry sauce – you get the picture), I joined some of our group for a walk around the block. Now, the street where my Tio and Tia live isn’t really like a normal city block, to mean that it isn’t straight and rectangular like the block I live on. It’s in an area that is somewhat hilly, so I think the city planners incorporated the area’s geography into the plan and just made the streets follow the landscape. Maybe that’s how it’s traditionally done – I don’t know. But so this walk took maybe 20, 25 minutes – just enough to make some room in my stomach for dessert, also known as “the second part of the meal.”

I walked along with my Tia Fatima.

During our conversation, the subject of my mom came up (always a sore topic for me). I mentioned that I recently got a letter at the house – my house – addressed to my brother Sandy; the return address was somewhere in Orange County, so I knew my mom was back in California (last I had heard, she was in Nevada or Arizona or someplace). My initial reaction was fear. Not fear of HER exactly; more like fear of what kind of impact her presence would have on my life – the one I’ve been working so hard to be happy in. There’s never been a single moment in the forty years of my existence where my mom and “happiness” could coexist in the same place. The last time I saw her – Christopher was just a baby – was one of the lowest points in my memory. It was after that visit in particular that I tried to overdose on my insulin. A big overdose. On purpose. A lot has happened to me since then, so I don’t believe for a moment that if she showed up on my doorstep today I would be taken back to that low place. But I feel the fear just the same.

Tia Fatima told me that she would always be grateful that “Russ brought you back to us” and that I had gone through some really rough things in my life; that I deserved to be happy. I in turn told her that I had never felt entirely comfortable being around family in general, but that I was really happy to be with her and everybody else tonight. She told me, “Shirley, we will always be there for you. No matter what.”

It brings tears to my eyes, when I replay that conversation in my head. It amazes me that I could find my family, now, at this stage of my life, so important, so meaningful, so critical to my ongoing survival when as a kid all I wanted to do was get away from them (I left home when I was 18 – just after graduation and in the middle of the night, no less). I remember driving away in the truck my dad was letting me use (I had a friend drive it back shortly after); as I peeled out of the parking lot he grabbed for one of the side mirrors, but it was too late. I shot out of there on squealing tires – free! Finally! It felt so good to escape. And I never looked back. Always forward. And I have carried that mindset through to the rest of my life. I never go back to the same situation, one that I’ve left. If something doesn’t work for me... and I’m a very fast learner. But if any of the variables change, well, that’s another matter entirely.

Driving home, I got a text from my brother Sandy, wishing me a happy Thanksgiving. Sandy pretty much works crazy hours – he’s an engineer and does some complicated computer design fiber-optic test equipment something or other that I couldn’t even begin to explain – so when I do hear from him it warms up my heart like a shot of adrenalin. I love my brother. It’s funny, because we hated each other as kids. I’ve heard that about siblings – if you hate each other as kids, you get along great as adults. And vice versa. I’m thankful Sandy and I hated each other as kids, because you spend a greater amount of time as an adult. And he has been the constant in my whole entire life. He’s my only brother. Kind of like people say all the time “you’ll only have one mother and father.” I have that feeling for Sandy. And to me, depending on the specific mother and father in question, that could be either a blessing or a curse.

I have the weekend between Christmas and New Year’s off from work (all of my jobs), so I’ll be spending that week in Chicago with my cousin Lisa and her family. Sandy will be flying over from Hawaii, so I’ll get to spend some time with my brother too. I’m very excited… I was on the phone with Lisa the other day, and I told her how much I am looking forward to seeing everybody.

Happy. I could get used to this.