Perhaps it's the fact that my
grandfather died on christmas, when I was a boy. Maybe it's the fact that, with the exception of a
kitten, I've never really gotten any gifts that make me feel like I think I should, like those perfect
cherub TV boys feel when they open their presents, and throw themselves into the arms of their mothers.
I remember being four or so, and listening to the radio for news of
Santa's sleigh. I waited by the window and watched, hoping for a glimpse of a red nose, shining like a beacon... And I remember that I thought I saw it, once.
Maybe it's because every year I keep hoping this is going to be '
the one', the christmas that will be perfect, wonderful, just the way I imagined it. Every year, I find myself more and more upset by the fact it's not.
I'm going to be spending christmas alone, this year. Everyone's going to be going back to
Ottawa, except myself. I'm working
christmas eve,
christmas day,
boxing day,
new year's eve,
new year's day.
...
I wish I could be one of those people that just "cancels christmas" ... They declare that they're not going to
celebrate it, or buy any gifts, or accept any. It's just another day for them, and I suppose
I admire them for that, somewhat. I wish I could do that. I can't.
I can't shake the last nagging hope that maybe, maybe
something will work out right for the holidays, maybe I'll finally have a christmas the way I want to, if I just keep hoping.