3 days of christmas (or, the ghosts of christmas past)

It’s interesting, the way we associate the holidays with “joy” and “cheer,” but sometimes those emotions do not predominate, despite the blessed abundance we enjoy. Recently, a writing prompt said “write twelve segments based on past memories of the holidays, eg. The Twelve Days of Christmas.” Obviously, those celebrating Hanukkah, Diwali, or other events could adjust as they wished. For me, a few of the memories that came were strangely dark, despite all the feasting and gifts and cookies and music. Like attending a birth, which I did for many years, the assumption is that the holidays are a happy time, so everything will be perfect.
 
1)  I’m a young child, maybe six or seven. My father loves to watch Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” on TV, and his particular favourite is the old black-and-white version featuring Alistair Sims.

The ghost that comes to tell him about the visitations that will occur is eerie and wrapped in chains; this ghost terrifies me. I feel like I can hear the chains, when alone in my room. I have nightmares about the ghost. Likely, I was not even allowed to watch the show and just happened to enter at an inopportune time. I knew the whole story, that it ended happily, but that was not enough to cancel the clanking chains of the ghost.

2) My mother and father and I stare out the front window of our home in silence, watching the snowstorm that has begun, waiting for my teenaged brother to return from his shift at Mcdonald’s. He was due a couple of hours ago. The radio reports accidents due to the storm. There are no cell phones. It is Christmas Eve and although we don’t speak, we all wonder whether this will be the worst possible Christmas, the one that changes everything. My brother eventually returns, safe and well. He did hit a parked car on the way home, had to go up to the owner’s house to let them know. The owner was hosting an event and was full of holiday cheer; he checked the damage and sent my brother on his way (offering egg nog first), everything ended very well. But we all remember those long minutes (hours?) standing by the window.
 
3) I’m working as a hospitalist on Christmas Day and the mood is festive on the medical floor. I’m wearing a Santa hat with twinkling lights as I do my rounds. The families visiting patients bring gifts to their loved ones, treats for the staff, there are decorations everywhere. All are in a good mood despite the setting. I knock and enter a patient room, full of good cheer, Hello, Merry Christmas! There’s an ominous silence. The patient is palliative but was up talking yesterday and seemed in good spirits. Today, the patient lies silent in the bed and the visitor says, I think he’s going. I remove my hat and the day changes entirely in that instant.
 
Why write about these things? Why remember them? I think it’s important to recognize that the holidays can be very sad times, lonely times, overwhelming times, even grieving times. Of course, we can and should celebrate, if we want; but we should also respect each other, whether age six or one hundred and six. Allow time and space. Meet people where they are.

(Don't worry: next week, happier memories!)