Tis the Night before Christmas
Last year’s Christmas was sad
Tis the night before Christmas, and all through the house not a creature is stirring, not even the dogs. My husband is snuggled asleep in our bed with visions of what the hell is in that huge box that has been in our living room for over a month dancing in his head. (I’m pretty sure he knows it’s a new recliner for him, but we pretend it will be a surprise.) The Christmas lights inside and outside will stay on all night, so Santa knows we’re here and waiting. But if I hear footsteps on the roof or anywhere else, I’m more likely to call 911 than to spring to my window and throw up. The sash, that’s it. There’s no new-fallen snow out there, either. That’s why I moved to North Carolina. I’ve had more than enough white Christmases to last this lifetime and probably a couple more.
Tomorrow morning, my husband will get up at his usual 5:30 (it’s still dark these days at that time) and have his two cups of coffee and feed the dogs and read and wait for me to drag my sorry butt out of bed around 10. Poor man; he’ll be dancing around impatiently, not to open his own gifts but to see the look on my face when I open his gifts to me. He could get nothing, and it wouldn’t bother him. He grew up on slim Christmases and was married for 20 years to a woman who never gave him a Christmas present. He was stationed in Japan for a year, and she never sent him a single letter. She sent boxes of things from their four children every month but never included even a note from herself.
I would love to shower him with presents, but our finances are limited, so I settled on giving him a few well chosen gifts that I know he will love. The recliner is one; it’s to replace the broken one he’s been sitting in for several months. I also bought him land in Scotland. It may only be a square foot, but it’s his, and that means he’s now a Lord. He will be very impressed.
But there will be no family dinner, no watching my children and their children open gifts. Not this year. My daughter-in-law and grandson brought over their gifts to us and picked up our gifts to them yesterday. We were masked and met outside. We did risk quick hugs, because there are certain things I won’t give up.
My daughter came this afternoon to drop off their gifts to us, and we hugged, too. We had to meet in the garage, though, with the door wide open because it was raining. I think we will Zoom tomorrow, but that’s it. It certainly won’t be like any Christmas any of us has ever known. And I hope it will be the only one.
Many people will travel. Many people will not mask or keep socially distant or avoid large groups of people. The next door neighbor of a friend of mine came up from Florida to New York last week. Immediately there were lots of cars on the street and many people coming by and loud parties into the night. I sincerely hope that all those people are still around next Christmas to do it again, but why take the chance this year? The virus doesn’t care whether you believe in it or not. It doesn’t care if you’re a Republican. What part of “highly contagious” do people not understand? This pandemic doesn’t discriminate. It’s not political. It’s common sense. Or maybe it should be called “rare sense” now.
This thing won’t go away by itself. We all have to do our part to stop the spread. The more people who ignore it, the longer it will keep spreading. Some people will be symptom-free, some will have mild cases, and some people will die. Pick a member of your family you wouldn’t miss next Christmas. Is there one? There’s no guarantee that’s the one who will die. If we all decide we don’t believe in gravity anymore, will we all jump off a bridge together, thinking we will all survive? Gravity doesn’t care whether we believe in it or not, either.
I am wishing all of you a merry, virus-free Christmas. Please don’t do something that can kill. Don’t drive after drinking, don’t speed on snow-covered roads, wear your seat belt, don’t drive through Stop signs or red lights, and stay home for Christmas. I want to wish you Merry Christmas again next year, too. And don’t risk giving the virus to Rudolph. Talk about old…
