Holidays: How they hold us and haunt us

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Last weekend marked the end of deer rifle season here in North Dakota. My uncle from Texas arrived in the middle of the week with his son-in-law and nephew, Pops took some time off, Husband willed Saturday to come quicker and the entire Veeder Ranch turned into a hunting camp, just like it does every year at this time.

Boots dripping with melted snow were strewn in my parent’s entryway, a combination of camouflage, hunter-orange, fleece, wool and leather piled up on the chairs. Men were up and out with the sun sitting on hilltops and sneaking through draws.

When our Texas Uncle comes to the ranch it’s like an extended holiday around here. We all sort of hang up our evening plans and get together around mom’s table while Pops fries up fish or beef or, if there was some success that day, venison.

Ever since I was a little girl, and as long as I’ve lived in this place, this is the way it’s been.

Most years I go out with them on the hunt at least once. Because there’s something about being out with the boys who grew up here, my dad and his brother, together walking the draws they know so well, sitting quietly on the hilltops taking in the familiar view of their childhood, doing what they’ve always done, that’s always been comforting to me.

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Since we almost lost dad early this year, each tradition spent since his recovery has been regarded as a gift and a little more precious than it was before.

I seem to be seeing the world more that way lately.

As the Thanksgiving holiday approaches I imagine it’s timely to be so grateful for second chances, for family, for walking behind my husband on a warm early winter evening, keeping quiet while he carries his bow, turns around and smiles, waving me along.

It’s never been difficult for me to be grateful for these things.

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But never in my life have I seen the world and the people in it as fragile as I see them these days.

Never have I been more aware of time and what it means for us.

And as much as I’m grateful for all of the things that fill this life of ours, during the holidays especially, I become the most aware of what we don’t have.

And who or what others are mourning.

Because what we don’t have, who we are missing, sits like a silent ache in the quiet corners of our houses.

IMG_9778Yesterday I sat down to make a Christmas Card and for the first time in my life I felt sort of silly about the whole thing.

“Who the hell wants a picture of just the two of us?” I said out loud to my husband looking over my shoulder. “Christmas Cards are for people with kids, and grandkids, so their families can see how cute they are. How much they’ve grown. We just keep getting older. This feels pathetic.”

It wasn’t sadness coming out of my mouth, but frustration. Frustration that the life I was in was perfectly good and that I should be perfectly grateful, but I couldn’t will myself to be those things at the moment, not even in the name of the holiday spirit.

All I could muster up was annoyance and a sort of anger that other people have family photos taken for the occasion, snuggling into one another on a blanket or in front of a fireplace, birth announcements for Christmas cards, big extended family shots with grandkids on Santa’s lap, and all I could scrounge up from our archives was a photo of us sitting on a cooler at a music festival drinking beer.

It was a moment of pure envy. Pure poor me. It was ugly. (Others have lost more. Others have less to lose. Others suffer more than we can comprehend.)

And it sort of scared me.

Because I love that photo of us sitting on a cooler at a music festival drinking beer.

I love that we have a life full of those sorts of photo opportunities. I am proud that despite all of our losses we are still trying, but most of all, we’re still living a fun life, striving for fulfillment. Holding on to one another. Laughing.

We have other dreams, dreams that don’t fill the empty void of a family we feel as incomplete, but dreams nonetheless.

We’re ok really. Most days we’re just fine.

But how do you portray this when picking out a Christmas card? The templates available to us are smattered with children frolicking in the snow, “Joy to the World” in big bold letters across their footprints.

Staring at the photo of my husband and me, in our early 30s, sun kissed and smiling despite seven years of trying and failing at creating one of those Christmas Card Template families, all I could see were our friends and family, the ones who know of our struggles, opening the card and shaking their heads.

“Poor Jessie and Chad,” they would think to themselves.

“Joy to the World” didn’t feel appropriate then.

And neither did anything with the words “Merry” or “Bright.”

But it was all bullshit. Justified bullshit, but bullshit still, and I knew it.

So did my husband.

He said, “You’re sending these to people who love us. My grandma. Your grandparents. Aunts and uncles. Our friends. They love to get mail. They will love to have a photo of us and I like this one.”

“I like this one too,” I said and carried on.

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If I learned anything this year it’s that we don’t know what the hell is going to happen. I’ve been walking through 2014 with that sucked so close to my chest that some days I can’t breathe.

But as the year progressed, as summer came shining down on our shoulders, when my little sister got engaged, as I watched my nephew turn 4, working on growing up into a cool little person, I watched my dad get better, stronger, more himself, the worry release from my mom’s face, I realized that not knowing how this is all going to turn isn’t all scary.

But sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes it’s sad. And always it makes the holidays a little bit shaky for us. Because being so damn grateful and so damn frustrated and so damn happy and so damn worried at the same time is confusing and emotional, especially when it comes to cutting down and decorating Christmas trees and making sugar cookies alone together in this house.

Yes, traditions can hold us together as much as they can haunt us.

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I guess that’s what I’m trying to say here. That some of us celebrate as much as we mourn during this time of year. I say some of us. But maybe it’s all of us. And that’s ok.

I imagine my dad and his brother walking across these pastures where they were raised, and I doubt they take many steps before they think about their father and how he taught them to shoot their first rifle, how he was with them when they got their first big buck, two grown men, two grandfathers, just missing their dad.

I look at my husband looking back at me, waving me along the trail out there on our own hunt, I feel him standing behind me in the kitchen, I watch him cutting down another tree to stand in our house for the season and I know we can do it. We can be sad and we can be happy. Scared and hopeful as hell.

And we can sit together on that cooler under the hot summer sun, a little tipsy from one too many, smiling eyes under sunglasses in the face of a good and unpredictable life and we can be so frustrated and so thankful and so much of all of the heartache and happiness that sits in our bones under that skin that makes up the arms we have around each other and we can put it on our Christmas card, and despite all that we think we don’t have that we should, we can write “Joy to the World” if we want to.

But I don’t think I want to.

This year, I think I’ll just pick “Peace.”

Winter

15 thoughts on “Holidays: How they hold us and haunt us

  1. We have three children. Two were adopted as babies. All three are true gifts to us and provide endless joy They are in their 30s and now we are also grandparents. Regardless how kids enter your family you unconditionally love them and are always proud of them. There is no difference

  2. Oh Jessie, this post broke my heart and made my feel like I made a new best friend. My husband and I weren’t in a rush to have kids. All of our friends have toddlers. We have been trying for well over a year (I know we’re still so early in this trying thing unlike you and your husband). I just found out the last of my three closest friends is pregnant again, so they are all pregnant with their second. The holidays are so hard and I keep telling myself it’s okay and I am okay. But I’m not. Putting up a Christmas tree this year just for us doesn’t seem as exciting as it would if we had a baby.

    We have so much to be thankful for. We both have wonderful jobs that we love. We have a beautiful (or soon to be) house. Healthy family and friends. We have so much to be thankful for but there is still that dark cloud that hangs over it all.

  3. Jessie, This is such a straight from the heart and soul of your being blog I have ever seen. So honest but so true. Holidays are a tough time and I have felt like that in my life, why am I decorating? why bother sending cards? does someone really need these sugar cookies and old home favorites? and every year I say I ain’t doing it and then someone asks me are we getting our tin? and the apron goes on flour and sugar fly and cookie cutters come to life. Favorites are Rosettes no one in New England knows what they are but they know they are delicious…so that is why I end of being an elf instead of the scrooge. I also thought I would never be a Mom and low and behold 32 years ago I had a son in Dickinson, ND, he and his wife have now blessed me with a beautiful Granddaughter so once again some of the joy is back in the season. Your husband is a smart man in pointing out the fact that the reason we send cards is because the people we send them to Love us and love cards. Sorry so long. Have a great holiday season and looking forward to your next musical endeavor.

  4. I can only speak for myself. My husband and I were not able to have children, and are not able to keep trying. I feel the bits of annoyance and heartbreak when sitting down to design holiday cards. I have friends in similar positions as mine as well. And I am just as happy to get their picture in the mail. Holiday cards aren’t specifically about kids–they’re about reconnecting.

    Plus, I usually sneak in at least one snap shot of our pets.

  5. Not sure I will ever send a Christmas card again… I don’t think I will. Not sure I will ever feel holiday joy again. But you know what, I don’t need to. It’s taken five years to get to the point that I am not yearning for the way I used to feel about holidays. To accept that I am forever changed. That I am more fragile and stronger than I ever knew I was. I am more understanding of how hard the holidays are for some. And more appreciative of gifts like your dad still being here with us and that my dad and mom here to celebrate their 80th birthdays this fall. There is so much to be thankful for this holiday season. Thanks for being the voice of many whose hearts are tender and vulnerable during the holidays.

  6. I was just thinking of your father’s brush with the grim reaper, and how you all brought him through it. I also picture Wade, that sweet 8th grader who had a sweet older brother. You have much to be grateful for–a family that’s the envy of those who know you.

  7. ‘”I like this one too.” I said. And carried on.’ You said it all right there Jess. Your whole piece was excellent and evocative, but you could have ended it right there – ‘keep on keeping on. Cowgirl Up.’ Life happens. How we respond defines us. Wishing you strength. Will

  8. I love the way you open your heart and share your thoughts about something so important and I know many of us have stood where you stand. Life doesn’t always end up the way we think it should…sometimes it ends up better!

  9. Jessie….You speak for so many. It is a life of conflicting emotions. Know that you are loved by your family and many,many others so very much. Despite it all, your message gives us all hope and reason to be thankful on this Thanksgiving Day. Grandpa and Grandma

    Sent from my iPad

  10. Jessie, My wife Lois wrote one of the first comments telling you of our three children. I would like to add to her comments. In our family (in-laws included) we have children from India ,China ,Korea ,and the USA. And oh yes some are born to us. Chidren are a blessing no matter if they are born to you or adopted. I hope my comments are taken as intended ,that is not pushey but rather sent with love. Loren Myran

  11. Pingback: Christmas Card Rejects. | Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

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