The Year of Magic Christmas

When my mom was 32, we experienced what she called "Magic Christmas." She was between husbands, both of her kids were in gifted, she had a 4.0 in her program at the junior college, and for once, things seemed to be going up.

She dug up a tree and put it in a planter. This was our Christmas tree. We had lights on the tree, handmade ornaments, and lights strung up all over the living room. I remember the house was warm that year. We watched a lot of movies together. Hell, we actually spent a lot of time together. Mom had friends who were sane and good. We spent time hanging with them and everyone got a little nice something for the holiday.

Until she died, Mom always talked about Magic Christmas like it was some kind of fluke in her life. She seemed to believe this one year was a point of joy and happiness based on, I guess, Random Number Generation. And, you know, sometimes that's how things are. A million things can go wrong on the holidays and it is quite sweet and noteworthy when everything is just smooth.

Of course, this isn't the case with Magic Christmas. The one overwhelming factor that made Magic Christmas the best holiday we ever had is that my mom HAD. NO. HUSBAND. She had no husband for the year before either, but at that point, she was still trying to get her footing after walking away from Marriage #3. By the year of Magic Christmas, she was finally healed enough to be happy. We were finally healed enough to feel safe. It wasn't a matter of chance that holiday was good. It was a matter of the main factor that usually made our holidays awful being gone.

I have trouble thinking about Magic Christmas and focusing on the beauty of it. For me, the whole thing is tragic because by the next year, my mom had destroyed everything good about that experience by getting married, yet again. In the space of one year, we were back to everything being chaotic and dangerous and awful. We would never live under the same roof again. Our live stories as people in the same household ended. We would see each other at Christmas in the years to come, but it would never be the same.

I try not to fall into the dark space left in the wake of Magic Christmas. Sometimes I can't help myself though. If only she would have accepted that it wasn't a fluke. If only she would have realized that we were happy because she was, at that point, not inviting Unhappiness into our lives. If only she had noticed that without her stupid, awful, abusive, lazy, useless, messy husbands, the three of us could thrive and accomplish and grow.

Ahh, oh well. My mother was 32 a lifetime ago. Hell, I was 32 a lifetime ago. I should let the bitterness go and just try to focus on what was good about that time. The thing is, even after all these years, I can't.