December 1, 2009

• Reflections on some Last Christmases

  My Family's Last Christmas

  It doesn't snow in Southern California, and sometimes Decembers can be quite warm. It was one of those warm Decembers, in 1972, and a couple of months earlier, my parents, siblings, and I had moved to Glendora, nestled in the crook of the San Gabriel mountains, after having lived in the San Gabriel valley for over a decade.

  Mother had been experiencing a lot of nervous energy in the previous few years, and it was she who wanted to move. Even though Father had only recently gone back to work following a long recuperation period after having broken his pelvis in a forklift accident, he gave in to her wishes, and we gathered up over ten years of our lives and deposited them in the foothills. I was in college, majoring in English Literature at USC in Los Angeles, and the drive to school was over 50 miles each way. Sister and brother had transferred from Rosemead  to Glendora High, not without some bitterness, having been yanked from their friends and social lives.

  It seemed nobody in the household was particularly happy. However, to appease Mother's wishes, we put on our bravest of faces and stuck by her as we all readjusted to the new environs. Christmas was a very special holiday for our family, and we had no idea as we decorated the tree, and Mother unpacked half a dozen large cardboard boxes of decorations and holiday crafts and knickknacks, that this would be the last Christmas we would spend together.

  Since I had a job, for the first time in my life I had some "spending cash" at Christmas. In the past, while my siblings and I were children, my parents bought the presents, and we opened them. This year, I bought presents for my parents and my brother and sister. I spent a lot of time in gift stores looking for the right gifts. Sister and brother made arts and crafts, not having much money to spend. In the past, the tree held only the gifts our parents had bought for us. This year, most of the presents were gifts we gave to each other, the first and the last time this occurred in our family.

  It was a special Christmas, filled with joy that really hadn't entered the household since we had moved. I still have fond memories of that last Christmas. I remember opening presents my brother had made for me. A poster he drew for me is hanging on the wall not four feet from where I am writing this blog entry on my computer. We all joked and laughed. Our parents beamed when opening gifts we had given them, instead of the other way around. We all didn't know it then, but my parents would never know another Christmas, and it wouldn't be exactly the same after they had gone. Imaginary sleighbells and Santa's hearty laugh could clearly be heard.

  Mother had her bilateral stroke the next February, paralyzing her completely. Her kidneys falied her, and she had to be hooked up to a dialysis machine. She was stuck in a hospital bed, virtually a vegetable for the rest of her life, which didn't last long. Dad died in July of 1974, felled by the 13th heart attack. He'd been caring for my mother as best he could for over almost two years, and his heart just couldn't take it anymore. Soon after he died, my brother, sister, and I went our separate ways.

  Tom's Last Christmas

  My buddy Tom was a best friend to everyone he met. At over 6 feet, and weighing about 350 pounds, with a laugh that could stop traffic, Tom stood out in a crowd, and nobody who ever met him would ever forget him. We were like Mutt and Jeff, sizewise as well as friendshipwise, for a good 20 years. After my mother's misfortune, and my father's death, Tom's family sort of "adopted" me, and I spent subsequent Christmases with Tom's family.

  There was always a gift for me under the tree from Tom's parents, and I and Tom would always exchange gifts, usually rare jazz albums or books about rock and rollers. Tom was the consummate music freak, and could recite not only the history of rock and roll, which we both loved, but blues and jazz as well. Many a time I have memories of us both being far too drunk, and Tom regaling me with half slurred histories of his favorite artists.

  In 1985, I was living in the South Bay, about 60 miles away from Tom. We only saw each other on rare occasions, since I had developed a "gang" of new friends from workmates at the retail store in Torrance, where I worked. Still, as I did every Christmas, I drove up to Tom's family's place in Whitter for dinner and a gift exchange. Tom still lived at home, even though he was in his late 30s. His younger brother and sister had already moved out of the family home, but of course they came back for Christmas. I wondered if Tom would ever move away from home. He worked at a toy distributorship, so he was quite busy at work during the holiday season. I remember that Christmas as being full of warmth and wonder. Tom's brother Chris chided him about leaving home. Tom's mother was ailing a bit, but this didn't stop her from exhibiting good cheer. By this time, I was treated just like a member of the family. The meal was filling, and the spirit was exuberant. None of us knew this would be the last Christmas we would spend together.

  Early the next year, Tom was in an industrial accident, falling 20 feet and breaking his spine. He died after the spinal operation when blood got into his lungs. His father died soon after, followed by his mother. Sometimes I "visit" them in the Rose Hills Memorial Park, right down from where my own parents are buried.

  Bob's Last Christmas

  From 1987 through 1991, I lived with my friend Bob in his home, which I called the "Frat House". He shared his family home after his mother died with three roommates. First there was Mike and I, then Mike moved out and Jim moved in. Jim moved out when he got married, and we invited my firend Joel to move in. When I got together with Pat, I moved out, and Joel and Bob shared the house together. In 1994, after I found out Pat was cheating on me, and I moved into the garage in our rented house waiting for the lease to expire, I spent weekends back at the "Frat House". Bob was only 47 years old, but he seemed sickly. Joel told me that he wouldn't go to the doctor, and he didn't eat right. He seemed to be in enough good spirits one weekend right before Christmas 1994. Joel went over to visit a friend of his, and Bob and I went out to do some Christmas shopping and eat dinner. Bob rarely went out, and I think he liked the company.

  He bought some cds for some of his friends, and we went to eat a "holiday meal" at Alberto's Mexican Food in Lomita, a local hangout where Bob and I had spent many times together in the past, when I lived with him full time. After our meal, which had to be cut a bit short, because Bob was complaining of a stomach ache, we went back to "The Frat House" and listened to some of the cds he had bought. I told him he shouldn't open the packaging, but he said he hadn't heard these cds yet, and the guy who he bought them for wouldn't mind. I wasn't going to worry about it, nor complain to him, although I thought it was a bit weird. We listened to the music. I drank a beer or two. We both smoked some dope, and after a while Bob told me he had to go to bed.

  I joked that it was about an hour too early for him, since as long as I'd known the guy he always went to bed at 10pm on the dot. He retired, and I went into the living room, closed the sliding door between the living room and the hall, and made my bed on Joel's foldout, my regular weekend sleeping accommodation, since I and Pat had broken up.

  That was the night Bob died of a heart attack. Joel came home later in the evening, and found him in the bathroom on the floor. He tried to give CPR, to no avail. Joel awakened me, and we called 911, since Bob didn't have any close family.

  
  Last Christmases

  I have some great memories of Christmas time. I have a lot of great memories of family and friends who aren't around anymore to celebrate the season. I toast them frequently, however. Just recently, my buddy and roommate Joel (who was the guy who found Bob in the bathroom) passed away at age 53 after a three year battle with cancer. He died in the summer time, but we did have a "last Christmas" together in spirit. Even though I rarely buy or decorate a tree anymore, when we first moved into the house we shared in Lomita back in 1995, I decorated, and bought presents for Joel and a few of my friends, whom I invited over to celebrate the holiday. I got Joel a VCR. His had just broken down.

  At work, our CEO Jack is Mr. Christmas this time of year. That is, usually. He isn't around the office now, having suffered a stroke last March. He is on the mend, however. Usually, our Christmas party at work, which is held in a nice restaurant right before the holiday, is my celebration of the holiday in recent years. I wondered if we'd even have a party this year, because of Jack's condition. His three daughters run the company, and I was told that we will still have a party this year. I don't know if it will be in a restaurant or at work, but since it's Jack's favorite time of year, we simply have to have a company Christmas party of some sort. Let me tell ya, I'm really looking forward to it. During Jack's birthday, he was brought to work in his wheelchair, and he beamed a million watt smile. I've seen him at home and I could tell a definite difference in his demeanor. After all, there aren't too many people in their mid 80s who still come into work every day. Jack did, right up until the stroke. (He should have retired long ago, but his company is his hobby.)

  It's said that some people suffer from depression at Christmas time. That's a shame. My Christmases sure have had some bumps in the past, and even this year, it won't be a holiday like "usual". This doesn't mean that the holiday needs to be dismal or dreary however. As I look around the mobile home park, I see people putting up decorations. Lost of inflatable Santas and artificial icicles in SoCal. Still, the holiday season is upon us, and as I remember the "last Christmases" of my memory, those special times when I last saw my family and some of my best friends alive, I give thanks and I pray, and I celebrate life, and bask in the wonder of it all.  

  Merry Christmas to my fellow bloggers. Hope you have a wonderful holiday season, and if there has been any loss in your lives, either recent or long ago, or people with whom you cannot spend this Christmas, I hope and pray that you miss them terrribly, but that you spend your energy not in mourning, but in celebration of their lives, and in the wonderful memories of Christmas Past, as I do this time every year, when I contemplate those "last Christmases" in my life which were, and still are, so special to me. I may be alone in "reality" but I am never alone in spirit.

  It's December 1st as I write this. Just 24 more days till Christmas.

  God bless us every one.

  

  • 9:22 pm
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