An Orphan’s Christmas

Sure, my parents drove me crazy.

I mean, they made me laugh and grit my teeth and roll my eyes.  Sometimes all at once.

They were exuberant.  They laughed a lot.  Mom was bossy, and Dad was agreeable and happy.  They loved to eat, and weren’t shy about having a glass of wine.  They played games.  They were always delighted with each other, if not with us kids.  (I think they actually were delighted with us, but parents showed it differently in their generation.)

Christmas at home, Oklahoma-style

Mom would only buy Christmas presents that had been marked down for final clearance.  And she left the price tags on so we would know what a good deal she had gotten.  Santa always came too, but I remember more oranges and jars of pickles than fancy gifts. 

As children we saw all grandparents and all cousins on Christmas Day, often driving hundreds of miles to hit everyone.  As we entered each family house, my mom would enthusiastically shout “Yoooo Hoooo!!!!  We’re here!”  Somehow my mom managed to never cook a Christmas meal, but to coerce my grandmothers and aunt into providing lavish feasts for us. But we came rolling in to relatives’ homes, acting like we were bringing the party with us.

Once I left Oklahoma I always went home for Christmas, whether I was living in Nashville, Austin, San Francisco, Los Angeles or Cincinnati.  Neither tight budgets nor winter storms could keep me away from my Oklahoma family for Christmas.

I remember the Christmas Eve when Vito proposed to me.  We pulled Mom and Dad aside in the middle of their annual Christmas Eve party to tell them we were engaged.  My mom screamed, ran out of the room, and rang the big bell over the fireplace over and over, shouting to all their friends that their baby had just gotten engaged.

There was the Christmas that we flew from Los Angeles to Oklahoma with a toddler and an infant.  Our sweet baby girl had a tummy issue, and vomited on my husband the entire flight from California.  The next year she got an ear infection, went to the hospital to get antibiotics, and had a severe reaction to penicillin.  And there was the year that Vito’s back went out, and he couldn’t stand upright the entire time we were there.

But still we came.  Christmas was MY holiday, and my husband and kids knew we had to spend it with my parents and our Oklahoma family.

When the Oklahomans invaded Cincinnati

At some point we came to our senses and invited the Oklahomans to Cincinnati.  And that started a good ten years or so where we hosted many adults and children in our house here.  Dad brought his brightly colored cashmere, and Mom wore her hand-knit Christmas sweaters.  We would go out to dinner and Daddy would act fancy and order a grasshopper as his before dinner cocktail, eliciting either a confused look or a wink and a smile from the bartender.  (A grasshopper is a dessert drink popular in the 60s, made with ice cream and creme de menthe.)  

We took them to church for the candlelight service, where it “snows” inside the church.  They both cried.

There was the year we went out in the minivan to look at Christmas lights.  Daddy already had on his pajamas (it was 7 p.m.) so he hopped in the car like that, barefoot, with his glass of wine.  Of course the van got stuck in the snow, and Dad got out, in his shortie pajamas, and pushed the car.  I think he was 86 at that point.

Back to Oklahoma

They came to Ohio until they hit their 90s, and I really couldn’t ask them to fly anymore to spend Christmas with me.  So once again, we were back on airplanes, flying to Oklahoma.  

Our last Christmas together was 2019.  Little did we know how much the world would change in a few months.  We were in Oklahoma with Mom and Dad and both my siblings and their children.  I wish I had savored every minute.  I didn’t.  We were busy.  We had meals to plan, pictures to take.  Busy busy busy.

It all changed.

In March 2020 the world shut down, and we couldn’t travel for Christmas 2020.  That was my first Christmas without my parents.  I was very melancholy, and my husband and kids were extra tender with me, trying to make me feel better.  It felt like a one-time situation, because of Covid, and I assumed that I would spend subsequent Christmases with Mom and Dad.  But after the Covid Christmas my dad’s health and mental acuity took a real downturn.  We bought a house in Oklahoma in 2021, and I started spending significant time there.  But I came home to Ohio for Christmas, to be with my husband and my children.  Christmas became just the four of us in Ohio with Vito’s mother, and sometimes adding Vito’s sister.  I never spent another Christmas with my Oklahoma family.

Daddy died in 2022.  Mom died this year, October 2024.

It feels so empty.

I realize now how much my parents did to make Christmas be. . . what?  Joyful.  Fun.  Chaotic.  Full of gratitude.  Packed with family.  Noisy.  Way too many presents, cheap and bought on sale.  The doorbell constantly ringing, friends dropping by.  We were too busy, packing in all the visits with relatives.  I took it for granted.  It was just what Christmas was – it didn’t feel like anything remarkably unique or spectacular.  

(It was.)

So go ahead.  Roll your eyes at your parents.  Make fun of them when they order silly drinks like grasshoppers, or wear their misshapen hand-knit Christmas sweaters, or go out in the minivan in their shortie pajamas.  But appreciate what they have created, and love the light and the joy that they bring.  Take a breath and hang on to this, just for a second.