It’s Christmas Eve morning and I’m sitting alone in the living room of my daughter’s home. I arrived a few days ago for a week-long visit to celebrate the holiday with her partner and new baby. My first grandchild is an absolutely adorable sweet baby girl. My heart is brimming with love, joy, and excitement as I anticipate a day of Christmas merriment making cookies, listening to Christmas carols and since this is a SoCal Christmas we’ll do some poolside hot tubbing too.
Before coming here, I spent a few days with a friend at his house in the Sierra Foothills. The weather was a lot different there. Cold, crisp clean mountain air with cozy evenings spent in front of the fireplace. Together we put up his tree and decorated it. He loves Christmas as much as I do. I’m so grateful for the way I am now free to celebrate the holiday in peace and harmony because with Varg and his family, there was always so much tension. For starters, Varg dreaded Christmas, mostly because it conjured so many painful memories from his childhood. He never felt like his mother, (who was apparently a cold-hearted ogre) did not make it special. In the weeks prior to the holiday she would take him shopping for school clothes and then wrap them and put them under the tree. Nothing was a surprise, nor was it fun or magical. He never told stories of any fun holiday traditions. I felt sorry for him and in response, in my prior co-dependent state, went way overboard making myself crazy creating our new family holiday customs as if somehow it was my job to “fix him.” It didn’t work. He stayed a mess and most likely still is.
I no longer care. Today I get to spoil my new grand baby and bask in the beautiful Southern California sunshine. I’m so grateful for how far I have come. Life is good.
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