Memories

It was a difficult time in my life. Work offered me no joy. My friends were drifting apart.  I was feeling disconnected from those around me. People and things held no significance. I just couldn’t connect. It was fair to say that I lacked a sense of belonging. My ecosystem had changed, but I hadn't. Slow to respond. Lethargic. I failed to adapt to the shifting circumstances that reshaped my life. I had used time to my advantage. I worked hard, attained some personal and professional achievements, and had established my financial independence and security. What I didn't realise at the time is that once the reason for this effort had disappeared, my children, my emotional security were under threat. Time was closing in, and I didn't know how to respond. 

It all came to bear during the most important holiday period of the year. It was Christmas, and I was home alone. My daughters were all grown  and were with their in-laws celebrating the festivities. On the other hand I was sitting in an empty room. There was no tree and no decorations, no presents and certainly no Christmas cheer. But, I believe it reasonable to suggest that I was not entirely alone, and the only things that kept me company antagonized me. What were these things? Why, they were memories. 

We, my partner and I at the time,  bought this place twenty years ago now. It was and still is a ramshackle dwelling but swathed with both light and love. I was married then, but it has been a few years since that ended, and I'm not disappointed by that. Our children were young when we bought the house. The oldest was six and the youngest was half way between one and two. Three kids in total, all girls. Beautiful,  each and every one of them. I don't see them as often as I would like to nowadays, but that is what happens. The young learn to fly and are gone. Before long I was on my own in the family home. I was lonely, at times despairingly so. 

Memories haunt me. I can see the Christmas tree in the corner. The presents piled majestically underneath. The lights, which were hardly ever on. A note to Santa on the mantelpiece and perhaps a biscuit or two left for the jolly fellow to consume. The girls were always excited for Christmas. Not so much anymore, and that's a shame. Perhaps I am trying to cling to a past in which I meant more to them. They needed me then, not so much anymore. I find this fact so debilitating that, at times, I can hardly move. I can't help how I feel. I have spent so much emotional energy into my children that once they moved out of home I have forgotten how to live. 

I can see the oldest girl, Madilyn sitting in front of the tree, her long red hair cascading over her shoulders. It is my favorite picture of her. So happy, so genuinely connected to the spirit of Christmas. I wish I could feel that happy again. My little girl has grown. She is a wonderful woman and has two children of her own. A boy and a girl. She is a great mother. I hope she looks at them with the same love in her eyes as I do for her. For all my girls. 

Christmas is a time for family. For togetherness. Yet here I sit. A warm day, in a hot room, trying to catch a still breeze and failing miserably. I move to the window and peer across the road at the pines that dwarf the small abode I call home. I hear a car and wait in silence as it passes a minute later. I wonder who that was. What was their Christmas like? Do they have children? I am a sentimental fool I know, but life had more meaning when my girls were younger. They needed me. They depended on me, not any more. I am not needed as much. I just don't see how I fit into their life. Where? How? My life has lost meaning. 

I let these memories dictate how I should feel. Sad. Morose. Miserable. I keep telling myself not to feel this way but I know nothing else. Stray rays of sunlight fall across the floor. I implore my conscience to live and love like I once did. Old before  my time. Life on a loop. Work, home, loneliness. Work, home, loneliness. I am unwilling to remove myself from them. Daughters three. Without them I have nothing. If they need me not then I have no purpose. It is silly to think in such an erroneous manner. I move from the window to the cabinet in the kitchen. I am about to break a personal vow I made to myself years earlier. That is, never drink when feeling low. 

I reach for my favorite glass, hexagonal in shape, standard height. It was bought for me from my daughters years earlier. It made a dull thud when I dropped it a little too noisily on the oak finish. I picked up the glass and shuffled across to the fridge. The ice tray was half full, or was it half empty. I am reminded of the old adage, about being either half empty, or half full. Caught somewhere in the middle, that’s exactly how I felt. Four ice cubes tumbled into the glass. I left the ice tray on the sink, with two cubes in it. 

The bottle felt good in my hands as I contemplated it seriously. Just this time it wouldn’t hurt to have a drink. Just this once, after all it was Christmas. It was a time to celebrate, and to relax. Despite the early hour, I twisted the lid and tipped the bottle and watched as gravity poured the sweet elixir into the glass. It cascaded over the ice. I wasn’t paying too much attention, and more liquor than normal spilled almost to the brim. I sat the bottle down, without replacing the bottle top, picked up the glass, and sat in my chair by the fireplace. 

I can hear my daughters running through the house playing and laughing. It was here that we enjoyed many happy times, but they are gone. I wanted to believe that these good times would return. I wish I could believe it. I wanted to believe. I needed to believe in something and or someone else. But what? But who? Life was wearing me down. I felt the pangs of age. I raised the glass, and sniffed. Nothing. No desire to taste the honey gold liquid. I lowered the glass. The pictures on the walls intrude on my presence, but not as an intrusion is at first interpreted. School photos over the years in different stages of growth. Their smiles are splendidly vivid. Photos of holidays at the coast, birthday parties and a family portrait. I smile as I recall each memory.

I raise the glass to my dry lips, but pause. I shouldn’t drink, not now, not like this. It goes against everything I stand for. Never drink when feeling low. It was a creed I developed a long time ago, but it was one I had lived by. Was I seriously going to cross the line? There would be no going back. Then, I was struck with a realization; just one, but it was enough. It was simply that memories have a way of shaping who we are, but they don’t define us. I am not the past. I am evolving. Always becoming a better version of myself. I could rationalize giving in to the temptation, even though I know I shouldn't, I just can’t. 

 I cannot justify taking a drink, not now, not like this. I curse myself, stand and move across the floor in haste and tip the contents of the glass into the sink. I rinse the glass out, and replace it in the cabinet. The bottle is replaced in its rightful place with the lid on. The ice cube tray is refilled and placed in its former position. It was at this moment that my phone rang. It was my oldest daughter. She wished me a merry Christmas and I spoke to her for well over an hour, then I spoke to the grandchildren. They were so happy. When the call ended I phoned my daughters, and hours later when I finally put down the phone, I was smiling. It was then I realised, and I don’t know why it took me so long, that it was time to be a part of new memories.