Herself thinks.
One: It is so refreshing to hear Offspring the First's laughter throughout the house. Her acerbic wit and her small-talk prowess have made various family gatherings much more enjoyable than they would have been without her presence. I am glad she is home to visit.
Two: Beloved Husband's mother makes ornaments for her Christmas tree every year; the ornaments feature current individual pictures of each of her grandchildren. There were two hung right at eye level that were somehow particularly poignant: one of Offspring the Second at age 3 and a half, and another of Offspring the Third at 18 months.
In his picture, Offspring the Second is quietly smiling, his face still a bit baby-round, leaning against another person who is mostly cropped out of the photo. I can tell, though, that I am the one in the picture. Based on the teal sweatsuit the Offspring the Second is sporting, and the sliver of hospital gown that I wear, I know the picture was taken when he was brought to visit me in the hospital after Offspring the Third was born. Fifteen years later, Offspring the Second is a tall, angular, quiet and reticently-smiling young man, who keeps to himself and only occasionally reveals his thoughtful, witty soul. He is essentially an adult, and I know his needs are different from what they were so long ago. I hope I am loving him in the best way for his unique self.
In his picture, Offspring the Third stands in my in-laws' back yard. He is wearing canvas short overalls with thin blue stripes interspersed among thick green stripes, and he has a pacifier in his mouth. He looks pensive. I remember how those overalls were incredibly useful because they allowed room for the marvelous cloth diapers I used then. Over a dozen years later, toddlerhood and diapers are long, long gone. Offspring the Third is a looming, boisterous, tender-hearted man-child, who delights in giving presents to other people and longs to be a grownup. Fear not, my impatient young man, for the years are quick and you will soon enough have to shoulder the responsibilities that attend adulthood.
Three: Ancient and decrepit dog is so old. She continues to be curious -- sniffing all the presents interestedly, much to the consternation of Tiny Dog -- but she is even clumsier and slow. She got her front end stuck in a box; she put both feet into the box in order to investigate it, but then was unable to maneuver herself back out. She slips on the stairs, and I worry that she will, one day soon, fall and irredeemably break herself. This is likely her last Christmas. When will she join Ottoman-shaped dog in the Beyond?
Four: I did not think, a year ago, that it might be Ottoman-shaped Dog's last Christmas. Yet it was. If he were here this year, he would have been perplexed by the tree and the packages, as always, but he would have nimbly navigated around them and ignored Tiny Dog's barking. He would have thoroughly enjoyed Christmas dinner, and sleeping in a warm blanket near me. I miss him. I try not to contemplate his absence; every now and then, though, it is even more abundantly clear that he is no longer here.
Five: as usual this time of year, Beloved Husband had to make a four-hour drive to a nearby city to address some professional requirements. He leaves at four in the morning and returns close to midnight that same day. Every time he makes this trip, I worry. For no discernible reason -- no history, no experiences -- I have a fear of losing him in a car accident. The fear began years and years and years ago, when I was pregnant with the Offspring. I feared Something Unspeakable that would leave me alone to raise the children by myself. Though now the children are nearly grown, I still to this day fear Something Unspeakable.
When he came home, mercifully safely this time, he relayed a story: during the trip home, another driver had unexpectedly made a U-turn IN THE MIDDLE OF THE HIGHWAY, and he had to swerve away. I had chills. What if he had been a minute earlier or later on the highway? A knock at the door late at night, a phone call from an unexpected number, a media vulture roosting on the front stoop -- but for the grace of God.
The news outlets excel in recounting holiday-adjacent tragedies: "
volunteer firefighter unknowingly pulls his dying daughter from a car wreck Christmas Eve". How I do not want ever to be part of a public feasting upon a private pain. Nothing I can do to stay the hand of Fate, though - what will happen, will happen, whether I am afraid or not. Sigh.
Six: On a lighter (or perhaps, a heavier) note: did I really need to eat *all that*? I am spending so much time eating my feelings this winter. I have set myself a goal of eating nutritiously and LESS, beginning on New Year's Day. So much easier said than done, in the cold and the dark season of in-need-of-comfort. All I can do is try again, and also, try not to berate myself too much. That's a harsh and useless behavior. What is done is done. Better times can be ahead. We shall see.
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