THIS being Christmastime, I reviewed last year’s list of gift recipients and felt reality bites.
We shall be much fewer at our family’s annual Christmas gathering in the parental home. After a long wait, my younger brother finally left for Canada last June.
While his departure has left a big void in our hearts, we find refuge in the consolation that Butch is finally reunited with his wife.
Prior to his migration, they had been apart for 13 years. He waited for his retirement from a public utility firm, while his wife Violeta worked overseas, first in Israel and then in Canada.
We, of course, miss his loud and generous laughter and his very good heart. I see from his recent photos that he has lost weight. He had to get an entirely new set of clothes.
But Butch looks much better, younger, healthier and happier. Charge that to healthy living--vegetables and salads, no more beer nor colas, no more daily rounds of bingo outlets, and no more nights out with friends at karaoke joints.
All things considered, my father and I decided to be happy, despite being lonesome, for him. At long last, he finally gets to spend Christmas with Violeta.
My firstborn Laarni cannot make it home this time around. She just started a new business in the US, the kind that demands hands-on management.
Neither are my four nieces in the US coming home for Christmas. The eldest Joy has just relocated to Florida and is adjusting to a new job. The second Gay just saw a son move away; until he has adjusted well to living separately, she must be on-call ready on a moment’s notice.
The third niece Rucelle is tied down; her employers depend on her most in December, so she just can’t stay afar.
And the fourth niece Daffodil has a growing family; her fourth child is too young to travel anywhere.
As usual, the family will poignantly miss my mother and my other sister-in-law Celsa. Cancer claimed both of them. Their condition and passing away always left me wondering about the to-be or not-to-be of surgery.
My mother refused surgery, while Celsa had two separate operations. But my mother survived relatively longer.
My doctor friends, nevertheless, tell me they haven’t yet met any cancer patient who survived without undergoing surgery. The times, the times are a-changing, I guess.
When my daughters, nieces and nephew were still children, Christmas gatherings were always fun and lively.
Everyone talked at the same time and yet, understood each other. And the young ones always captured our hearts and attention as they wobbled to and fro.
Upon the eldest of them fell the “burden” (their description) of memorizing who was who among the adults and guests, and personally handing them their gifts. This task this Christmas will now fall on my grandson and my father’s great-grandson.
He doesn’t welcome that moment; he’s already seven years old and no longer a baby, he says. So, the conversation between him and his mother rages on.
She says, “You’re my baby love” but he says, “I’m not your baby; I’m your son.” Why must they always be in a hurry to grow up?
Maybe during gift-giving time, we’ll each just go to the appointed corner and pick out the gift bearing our name. The children, oh the children, have all upped and grown.
(lelani.echavez@gmail.com)