My bestie (a thousand miles away) sent Christmas breakfast to mom and me from a local establishment. That was a sweet surprise, and the right way to start off Christmas.
I got to talking with her about my last decade or so of Christmases.
I wasn’t at home on Christmas Day for most of them. Spent a few in Vegas. Then spent a bunch in Philadelphia. Those were my favorites. I’d stay with a friend, and we’d day-trip to NYC to have lunch with Uncle Bobby and then night-trip to have dinner with her family at the best Italian restaurant under the sun. We hit the Christmas markets in both cities, and it was the best.
That friendship fell by the wayside and I spent those next Christmases locally, outside the home.
What strikes me most is how I was part of two or three families, but not. And how different my own is. I like everyone in the room. Always did, though. At least here, that will never change.
Our tradition in my home has been to celebrate Christmas after the actual day. So it was strange to be home this time. But pandemic or not, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
Just like my family always did a #happydance to see me, I do one because I still have my Mom with me. My good friends down here weren’t so lucky, and we all feel that unimaginable void today.
I don’t know what Christmas future holds, but I do know that it’s time to prepare the now-traditional 12/26 lasagna!