Kate loved Christmas. She would plan every minute detail and delight in every part of it. By now she would have done all the Christmas shopping. And wrapped. And hidden in some corner or niche around the house. Our twins’ birthday is mid-December too, so the birthday presents would have been sorted as well. And of course packed. There would be a plan what we would cook. And when and for whom. It was a logistical operation, planned with military precision.
his approach was at odds with my laissez-faire approach to festivals. This usually caused tension. She asked me so many questions about Christmas that at one point I got mad and we ended up fighting. Usually it was about the effort it takes to cook a real turkey. Soon after, I would board the Christmas train again. Bah Humbugs would be forgotten and the festive season would be in full swing.
She had an amazing ability to memorize the words to any song, including Christmas carols. She would sing or hum last christmas, Wonderful Christmas time, baby it’s cold outside and all the rest non-stop from here to January. There would be red tablecloths, poinsettias and crackers. A lot of wine, beer and spirits were bought. A tree would be bought, and baubles and tinsel would be in abundance. Christmas was about overdoing it, Kate believed. So everything would be exaggerated, goddamn it.
Christmas will be a different matter this year. I don’t have the same level of military precision, but I’m not unprepared. I don’t have the same enthusiasm either. It’s duty, not excitement, that drives me to make the most of Christmas. I’ll honor Kate’s love of Christmas by giving my all – or at least trying to.
I have plenty of help in this regard. Once the Halloween decorations were put away, one of the twins insisted that the Christmas decorations come out. Normally, I would resist this premature celebratory mood. Now everything is allowed: Since November, a Hobbit-sized Santa Claus has been standing in front of the door. A cheesy light box, from which another Santa Claus emerges, also lit up the living room all month. As soon as you can buy a tree, we will buy a tree. This year I’m going to get as much out of Christmas as possible.
The gifts are sorted. Most of time. This was done with the help of the Smyths catalogue, which the twins regard as a kind of Christmas almanac. They marked each page with what they wanted. They color coded the toys they want to help me. Pages with toys for girls or anything that could be construed as toys for girls were marked with an ominous red X.
I have a few blind spots. Like wrapping paper. I don’t have any of these yet, so nothing is packaged. I’m probably running out of duct tape and batteries – something Kate could never have allowed. Groceries are not sorted. But I don’t mind having an unconventional Christmas dinner. None of my boys touch turkey, roasted vegetables, and Brussels sprouts.
Oddly enough, I’m looking forward to Christmas. I feel a little guilty about that. It was unfair that Kate had to kick and scream to get me in the Christmas spirit. It’s only after she’s dead that I proactively embrace the madness of Christmas. What was it about? I should have been more willing to plan the madness with her, share the fun of it all.
I think this Christmas will be fun. Or mostly fun. It’ll be my boys’ first Christmas without a mom, so between all the presents, cups of candy and mince pies, there’s bound to be a few tearful moments. But we will be surrounded by family, friends and love. And where there is love, there is loss. Each family has a table with an empty seat.
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