The Magic of Christmas Past

The Magic of Christmas Past

By Meg Lagares

I am officially packed. My swimsuit is in my carry-on, along with sunscreen, some extra makeup, and my electronic reader loaded with many new books. I can hear my favorite lounge chair beckoning me to come sit. Deciding on going to the pool first or to the beach is my biggest concern right now.

Booking the early morning flight, even as a non-morning person, was a no-brainer. This way, I can get to the airport, catch my flight, and be sitting in the Caribbean sun by three this afternoon. It’s been so cold at home lately that it may take me the entire two weeks to thaw out. Not that I’m complaining, since these two weeks are just for me. No work calls, no clients, no family! I can read my books, sit by the pool, and sip fancy umbrella drinks.

Every year I experience DHS - dreaded holiday season. I discovered this astonishing place five years ago when I fled Maine and my overbearing, high-strung family. Things are strained when we come together, and the stress of Christmas just makes it ten times worse. Not to mention that both of my siblings have found the most obnoxious, self-centered partners, both can and will say whatever is on their minds.

Being the singleton in my family is akin to having some sort of fatal disease. No matter how successful I have become, no matter that I make double what my siblings do, no matter that I have been the only career-driven one, I am nothing in their eyes since I am not married and also (gasp) childless. There is no greater sin in my family's eyes. Not having to explain myself every year at the holiday table is my little piece of heaven. I make my reservations for the following year's trip when I check out right after the New Year.

Having gotten to know most of the staff over the past few years makes arriving at the resort feel more like spending time with a loving family, not one that judges every decision. I do the obligatory FaceTime call on Christmas, so I am not completely looked upon as the runaway child. When the questions start about why I am not there celebrating like my brother, sister, and the creatures they each married, and their unruly spawn that they seem to produce at an alarming rate, my phone connection all of a sudden gets full of static, and I need to hang up. I love it, I have my secret static sound machine built right into my phone, so I can use it at will. The best app I have ever purchased.

Just as I am bundling up in my winter coat, gloves, scarf and hat, and with one foot nearly out of the door, I get the call. My flight has been cancelled due to the blizzard. The blizzard? What blizzard? I have been mentally on the beach already, and I hadn't even looked outside. When I raise the blinds, I am greeted with only whiteness. I am unable to even make out the big elm tree that sits right outside the front door. “NOOOO!” I scream out-loud and as I reluctantly begin to peel off every layer that I had just put on. I reach for the remote and turn on the weather channel. “Whiteout” “Blizzard” “Storm of the Century” are the words that assault my ears. This cannot be happening, I am supposed to be headed to the airport right now for my yearly mental recharge. “Please snow gods,“ I pray, “Just let me make my escape, and then it can snow to your heart’s content.” I hear the meteorologists say that this storm will be hanging around for days, possibly a full week, and what a treat it is to have a white Christmas. “No, it’s not a stupid treat,” I am screaming inside my head, the only white Christmas I want is the white sand under my feet. The phone rings again, I am hoping it’s the airline calling to let me know that just my flight will be taking off before they completely close down the airport. Instead of that miracle, it was my mother exclaiming that with the storm, she hoped I'd be coming home this year. I had to reluctantly acquiesce.

   On Christmas Eve, I stayed at my parents' home. I wasn't planning on staying over, but the roads became more treacherous, and my parents forbade me to drive back to my place. My mother was all aglow with the thought of one of her children returning to the roost. "We can make gingerbread houses," she announced as she dragged me into the kitchen. "I have all the ingredients; it will be so much fun.

Remember how we made them every year when you were all just little ones?" We ended up making five houses in total. Mine were a little lopsided, but I figured it was a metaphor for my life. I seemed to be tilting to one side or the other all the time. It was quite late when we finished, and I was ready for bed. Mom had changed my sheets for fresh ones and put out some clean towels for me. "You can just wear one of my dresses tomorrow," she told me. As tired as I was, I felt secure and at peace being back in my own room. Luckily, the crazies weren’t there that night. My brother and sister-in-law were torturing her parents and my sister, her narcissistic husband and their brood of four kids under the age of 5 were at the other set of grandparents. Four kids! She really banged those out fast, there is a set of twins, but still, not my style one bit! 

Christmas morning arrived much too early.There was a wake-up knock on my door to announce that everyone will be arriving soon and to get some coffee and take my place in the living room for the big package opening extravaganza. It’s only 7 o’clock, as in the morning. I didn’t want to get up, I wanted to stay in bed and sleep the day away. I wanted to be in St. Barts, not in my childhood home, not in my childhood bed, surrounded by the memories of growing up here. As hard as I tried to stay in bed a little longer, I heard the front door open, and suddenly, my ears were assaulted by the squeals of high-pitched voices. It seemed like everyone was talking at once. "Don't sit there, don't shake the presents, say hi to Grandma and Grandpa, and remember Auntie Jill?" Of course, they were referring to me as Auntie Jill, and I did see these small beings not too long ago. I highly doubt they have forgotten who I am. Where is the coffee? Oh, joy. "Here, Auntie Jill, you wear the Santa hat to pass out the gifts to everyone since you are the only single one here," says my sister-in-law, Cruella, or as my brother calls her, Christina. The day is off to a wonderful start. "Oh joy," I repeated as I donned old St. Nick's jolly red hat and started going through the enormous pile of wrapped gifts. I always plan ahead and drop off the presents I buy for everyone early, so my parents can distribute them on Christmas. At least I didn't have to sit there without gifts for the family. "Remember, Jilly, one present at a time so we can all enjoy seeing what the gift is." Gee, thanks, Mom. How could I have ever remembered that? We have only been doing it my entire life. I plastered my Christmas smile back on and started handing out the gifts, one by one, as instructed. 

The room is filled with laughter and sounds of delight as each present is opened. I see wide-eyed children dressed in their Christmas finest, I smell the roast that has been slowly cooking in the oven, and I see my parents watching the Christmas show with eyes filled with delight, pride, and love.

Once the kids were all busy playing with their first set of new treasures, I watched my sister go over to the tree and pick up a box. It was beautifully enveloped in shiny paper and topped with a red bow. She gently placed it in my hand and gave it a soft squeeze. "I am so glad you're here with us this year, Jill," she says as she handed me the present. "We have missed you the past few years." I unwrapped my gift. Inside was a beautiful family photo of my siblings and me from a Christmas long ago. We are each holding a wrapped gift, and our smiles are from ear to ear. The three Davidson siblings are frozen in time; a time when life was easier, no one had major disagreements, and all we wanted was to be together as a family. My eyes started to sting, my cheeks were on fire, my heart was about to burst. Yes, my family is opinionated, yes, they can be loud and insensitive at times, but we are a family. I took some time to look around the room at all the happy faces, and listened to the "Oohs and Ahhs" as the rest of the presents were opened. I sat back on the ancient sofa and found myself enjoying every minute. Soon I heard myself oohing and ahhing right along with everyone.

When I closed my eyes on Christmas night, back in my childhood room, I reflected on the day. It wasn't a day of anger or accusations; it was a day filled with love. I was emotionally embraced by my family, and I decided then that Christmas at home was not the evil experience I had convinced myself it was. It was a day spent with those closest to me, all coming together to share stories, laughter, and making memories. I think next year, I'll be right back here. St. Barts can survive without me, but I'm not sure if I can continue to survive without my family. I started to drift off to sleep, with a small smile on my face and my heart filled with the power of love.