Together Time

Everyone converged on Mom’s house today for an early Christmas gathering.

And by everyone, I mean almost everyone: Mom, her boyfriend, my brother, his wife, his children, their spouses, Clyde, and me … plus all the family dogs (except Chelsea, who, with an eye toward our upcoming Xmas trip to Paris, had already been checked into a resort for the duration).

Had my father — who died in 1990 — been there, the attendee list would have been complete. That said, Mom’s house was as full as I can remember it ever being — and not just full of people, but full of life.

When I was a kid, I dreaded the yearly Christmas Day trip to my Aunt Jean’s house, where, twice a year (the other day was Easter), all the aunts, uncles, cousins, inlaws, and outlaws converged for a family reunion. (Going to Jean’s on Christmas day meant leaving behind my newly acquired Christmas loot for a day.)

As an adult, though, I realize how fragile those “together times” really are. When I first met Clyde, for example, Christmas at his house included trips to two grandmother’s houses. Now, fifteen years later, the two grandmothers are no longer with us, and Clyde’s own mother, Joyce, is no longer with us … and our Christmas time, while still wonderful, is missing something we will never quite recover.

Today, I would jump at the chance for one more Christmas visit to Aunt Jean’s house — but, of course, that’s not possible … since she, like Clyde’s mom and grandmothers, and my father, now lives exclusively in our hearts instead of our homes.

And so: today, I am thankful for one afternoon at Mother’s house — a simple day spent giving presents and telling stories and eating ham and chicken and dressing and cake, surrounded by a group of wonderful people (and their dogs) who are united by their love for my Mom … or someone she created … or both.

If the holidays bring you closer to family and friends this year, cherish that moment.

Our “together time” is more fragile than any of us like to admit.