Not My Party

Christmas has always been a little bit of a weird time for me. As an earnest, uptight teenager, I remember coming home from my overseas trips and vowing to eschew all things material and American. I remember walking through the Mall of America and feeling overwhelmed and righteously (or so I thought at the time) disgusted by all the excess. I turned into an obnoxious version of this guy (although this particular picture is pretty cute):

I also remember the first year I was married. We picked a day early in December (the 2nd, to be exact) and went out to get all our Christmas shopping for each other done. I was so excited about what I had bought and how happy it was going to make him that we wrapped everything right away that night…and also opened presents. That night. All of them. And I remember when my marriage was floundering and heading towards total destruction, how hard it was to even care about a gift-giving opportunity but wanting, no, needing to make it grand for the littles.

I've gone back and forth through the years, sometimes annoyed by family requesting lists of things I want, other times so excited about it that I can barely stand myself. This Christmas, though…

This Christmas was a very big first. It was my very first Christmas in my whole life…that I spent alone. I had known it was coming for a very long time, since last Christmas actually. As it got closer, I just refused to deal. I kept saying, "I'm not thinking about that yet, October has to happen first," and then it was Thanksgiving, and then it was here.

My boys left town on the 21st of December. This was the year that I had them for Thanksgiving…and they went with their dad for Christmas.

I know that this is normal. Lots of people spend Christmas alone or with not their actual family all the time. Movies are made about it (I successfully avoided seeing any such drivel this year!) and songs are sung about it ("Christmas at Denny's", anyone?) and it's just reality for so many reasons for so many people. But for me, I had never not once NOT been with at least some type of family for Christmas.

Then, on Christmas Eve, my tree got smashed:

And there were no presents under it. And I had to work (all day until 5!). And my back has been hurting from a little car accident a few weeks ago. And I'm not gonna lie…I was feeling VERY sorry for myself.

So, of course I went to Midnight Mass (isn't that what every pathetic lonely Protestant girl does on Christmas Eve??). I love Midnight Mass. I try to go whenever I can. It's late and beautiful and feels like the perfect way to actually begin Christmas Day. And even though the bench was hard (my poor back) and the church was cold (cold feet and hands make it very hard to concentrate) and I didn't know anyone and I was apparently the only non-Catholic there…it was beautiful. And it reminded me that this is not my party. It's not about the presents and the people and the ribbons and the tags and the boxes and the bags…and not in anti-consumerism, shrunken heart kind of way either.

And I can honestly say now, that yes, it was weird. It was hard. It was very, very quiet. But it wasn't awful.

It was peaceful. And friends invited me for dinner on Christmas Day, and that was fun. And I have had and will have time to celebrate with family and friends on other days (and that's kind of awesome, actually, because it spreads the cheer out for a little while longer). I got to open presents with my boys and my parents this morning via Skype:

And it's okay. I made it. If I've learned anything these past couple years, it's that things I thought would break me have turned out to be survivable and even bring their own particular kind of joie de vivre. Not my party…no reason to cry…just an opportunity to learn another facet of the word celebrate.