It takes three points

in 2015 and 2016, I posted stories for Christmas on Facebook.  I'm at the life-altering decision making point.  If I do it three times, now I have started something.

I looked at both the 2015 and 2016 stories, and they are both amusing and heartwarming.  I just don't know if I have another one in me.  But I'm going to try.  I'm going to use the response I get to this blog posting to decide if this one goes on Facebook or not.

Christmas 2000 was a tough one for me.  It was my first Christmas after my Dad died.  My daughter and son-in-law (he was still a boyfriend at that time) had gone north to spend the holiday with her dad and my mom and extended family, so it was just me and my husband at home.

Everyone processes grief differently, and everyone processes grief in their own time.  For whatever reason, the tsunami of grief from losing my father hit me on Christmas day.

Mind you, there were warnings the tsunami was coming.  I made no plans for Christmas dinner.  I don't remember if I purchased gifts or not, but if I did, it was in that strange state of fugue that precedes a breakdown.

On Christmas Day, I fell apart.  I remember telling my husband I didn't want to have Christmas without my Dad in the world.  I cried until my face hurt. 

That day had to happen.  Those tears had to be shed.  The grief had to find an outlet.  Christmas was just the catalyst.

After the storm passed, my husband and I did our annual traditional six mile run (it's a walk now) and then went to a movie, which we did on Christmas Day for many years.  That year's movie was "Meet the Parents".  And I probably laughed as hard as I had cried earlier.

Because of the extended crying jag, by the time the movie ended, all the restaurants that had been open on Christmas were closed.  We did have two frozen hamburger patties in the freezer.  (When I say I did not plan, I mean an epic lack of planning.)

The only place open was Walgreen's.  So, we went to Walgreen's and got a jar of Ragu, a pound of spaghetti, and a package of hot dog buns.  I defrosted and broke up the hamburger patties in the Ragu, and we made garlic bread out of hot dog buns.  If memory serves me right, we also bought an impressive amount of wine.

We enjoyed our unconventional Christmas dinner, and I found a measure of peace with my Dad's death.

The next day at work when people asked how my Christmas was and I told the story, many were appalled and upset for me.  By then, it was just a thing that gave me another story in my story book.

Christmas doesn't have to be anything in particular to be memorable.  And sometimes, the Christmas you need includes a crying jag.

All the Christmases in my life, and I remember very few specifically.  I remember Christmas 2000 because it was so far removed from the idealistic Christmas.

But that Christmas was one of the most special of my life because of the gift I received.  While my husband could have been upset with me for failing to plan well for Christmas, or upset that I cried till my face hurt, or upset that the few plans we had were upended, none of those happened.  Instead, he held me while I cried, and when the crying was over, tried to create as much of a sense of normalcy as he could.  And while our Christmas dinner was unconventional, spaghetti with meat sauce is one of my favorite comfort foods.

The gift I received that Christmas was the gift that even though I had lost my Daddy, there was still someone in my world who would always protect me, always comfort me, and always support me.  Even though I trusted in my husband's love, that day demonstrated the depth and strength of that love in ways I treasure.  And then he still found a way for me to end the day laughing.

So maybe, just maybe, that was one of my best Christmases ever.