My three children spend Christmas Day with their father and all his relatives. It wasn’t always easy for me–in fact, in the early years after the divorce it was incredibly painful and I felt like it was unfair and unjust–after all, wasn’t I the one who even WANTED to have these children and hadn’t I been the primary care parent dealing with all the doctor’s appointments, school meetings, etc.? How is it that after all that I ended up alone on Christmas? Eventually, of course, I got over myself and adjusted. After all, that is one of the grand things about resiliency and adaptation–eventually things become fine in a new way.
There are beautiful things about the way my Christmas’ go now too. Plus, I know that it could all change again and by next year, who knows what I will be doing. Nearly twenty years ago, as a young, married mother, I thought I could see the next fifty Christmases spread out in front of me with great predictability. I was wrong and the one thing I’ve learned is that life is full of constant twists, turns and surprises.
Now, my Christmas Day tradition is a morning walk. After my first cup of coffee in a quiet house, I bundle up and go for a nice long walk in whatever kind of weather awaits me. I walk past the quiet intersections and past the Fire Station where there are always firefighters out doing important things to the trucks. I wish them a Merry Christmas, or just call out a friendly good morning in the frosty grey of the day. There are usually a few older people who I pass, either out on their own like me, or out walking a small fluffy dog. More good mornings or holiday greetings as we tug our scarves closer and pull our knitted caps down over our ears.
I like to take my walk around nearby nature preserve ponds and lakes as it only takes me about five or ten minutes and I am next to the water and surrounded by moss, skeleton trees, puddles, and burial mounds of dead leaves. There is something about this patch of nature surrounded by freeway and housing developments that makes me feel grounded in this place and time. I can see and feel the pulse of my grey winter city around me from the banks of the silty ponds.
The ponds are alive with Canada geese and herons and plenty of chirping busy birds along the brush against the bank. They could all care less that it is Christmas and seem to only be appreciative of the obvious lack of bustle, traffic, and noise that this holiday offers. By the time I work my way around the ponds and get back home, I am generally rosy-cheeked and warm. The crunch of my hiking shoes against the frozen gravel paths provides a steady rhythm to my solitary walk.
Scraping the mud from my shoes and unlocking my door, I come into my cozy kitchen and warm silent house. I leave the tree lights on to welcome me and pour my second cup of coffee as soon as I get myself unbundled. My Christmas morning walk reminds me that I am connected to this huge world in my tiny way regardless of whether I am playing the part of “mom” or not. Adjusting to single parenthood means figuring out how to be solitary and independent without feeling lonely and isolated. There is a message waiting on the phone…it is my kids, calling from their dad’s house: “Where are you? It’s Christmas morning and we wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas…we miss you. Call us…”
Also: “Who Fills Your Stocking?”