Wish

Christmas Eve has always been the big part of the celebration for my family. My grandmother would make potato soup and we'd open our gifts. Santa would come in the morning to leave a few things, but we never counted on him for the big stuff...that was always family and the night before Christmas. After my grandmother died, even before I had kids, everything stopped. It became half-hearted. My mother doesn't even put up a tree anymore. My parents' lives center around their dogs and routine. I used to get so upset by this, but now I just accept it as the way they are and I don't worry about it. So here I am, in the shitty little oil field town I fled as soon as I graduated high school, in my parent's house-o-dogs, with my two boys. My brother is a guest of the state this year. No tree, no fanfare, only the bare bones of what remains of my family. And, oddly enough, that's just fine with me. I am peaceful and full of love for this strange tribe to which I belong. I am looking forward to soup and presents with the few of us as much as I ever did when we were a boisterous houseful. Because it's the intention that matters. Not theirs, but mine. So I come to the table tonight, blessed with all of the good things that I have in my life, and with the wonderful people I love and who love me in my heart. I am whole and content to be who I am, to be with the people who raised me, and with the two little guys I am sending out into the world one day. The heartstring of family, for all its fragile and delicate nature, has a strength to it that defies logic. That's where the magic lies, and I wish all of you a magical logic-defying holiday with the ones you love.