Beech Tree News Network

It’s Sunday morning, I can hear Garey and Sabria playing on the front porch.  Natalie is watching a movie in the living room, and I’m trying to talk myself into loading breakfast dishes into the dishwasher.  My daughter, Nikki, and her fiancé, Thomas, left about eight this morning, and are on their way back to New Orleans.  This year’s holidays are coming to a close.
    I dread this time of year.  It feels like abandonment; I know it isn’t, but it feels like it.  I don’t mind the tedium of taking things down and putting them away.  It’s the finding of bits and pieces of things that remind me of people I love who aren’t here that gets to me.  The Starbucks coffee mug Nikki used at breakfast is on the coffee table.  The box in which I wrapped Thomas’ hoodie is lying on the hearth, ready to help kindle the next fire.   Even the gifts they gave me—the book and heated throw—serve as silent reminders that they’re gone.  As I watch them leave, I want to run down the driveway and herd them back this way, the way my dog, Scout, used to do to me.  I don’t.  I wave and smile then go into the house in order to cry out of view.
    Throughout the day, I watch the clock, calculating how far along the journey they’ve driven.  They should be on the other side of Nashville by now; Birmingham is coming up soon; Tuscaloosa in another hour and a half.  They should be crossing over into Mississippi right about now—two thirds of the journey behind them.  They’ll be on the outskirts of New Orleans soon.  Zissou and Dexter will be so glad to see them—they boarded their dogs this time. 
    Our Christmases have always been about comings and goings—years and years of them.  Garey’s mom, Aggie, and sister, Charlotte, came to our house the weekend before Christmas this year.  We went to my mom’s house Christmas night.  Nikki and Thomas came to our house on New Year’s Day and stayed until this morning.  Growing up, I felt smothered, even like I was drowning, in all the lives I was forced to be a part of.  I vowed to live in a land where none of my relatives lived.  I did.  I do.  Today, I’m re-thinking, even regretting that decision.  I feel as if I’ve passed on the same attitude to Nikki.  Maybe, it’s just part of growing older—the regret, I mean.
    I have a lot to regret after Christmas.  I’m a mad woman in the days before.  I cook and clean and make everybody around me generally miserable; eventually, I come to my senses and realize that I am undoing the very essence of Christmas with my madness.  By Christmas Eve morning, I’ve given over my unrealistic expectations for the season and settle into all the traditions that make it special.  We make popcorn and hot chocolate, and watch Christmas movies.  While Nikki and Thomas are here, we play board games—I especially like the “Ticket to Ride” game Thomas brought with them.  We take turns being Anna to Sabria’s Elsa as she plays “Frozen” on the living room floor.
    I find myself watching the clock again.  They should be in their apartment in a few minutes.  I hope Nikki texts me and lets me know they made it ok.  I hate to bother them while they’re unloading.  She does—text me, that is.  I can breathe again…till next Christmas.