Christmas 1965

It was Christmas eve 1965. I had graduated from college that June. I was the newbie at the office so they asked me to close it up so others could go home early. As I drove home to my cheap, studio apartment, I battled heavy traffic in the dark. It had rained and then frozen during the day. Sleet was pelting my new car. The crown of the road caused the car to slide toward the curb continually. Scary. New to Chicago. Still finding my way in new surroundings.

And alone. Very alone. My first Christmas alone.

Once home I fixed a simple supper of instant mashed potatoes. And instant coffee. That’s it. Nothing else. The cupboard was bare.

After supper I watched mindless television programming.

My eyes darted to the few packages that had arrived in the mail a few days before.

I opened the one from my brother in Syracuse. It was a pair of leather slippers. I put them on. They fit. And then I wept. Something from them. Something personal. It fit and was instantly useful. It reminded me of our connection. Caring and reaching out nearly a thousand miles.

And me alone. Feeling sorry for myself.

I opened the rest of the gifts and began to feel whole. I was me and the family was still the same, only separated by many miles. My sister was in California. Parents and brother’s family in Syracuse. Me in Chicago. Separated but linked. Feeling the presence.

I was OK.

Alone but OK. That was the last Christmas I was alone. Never again.

Even in pandemic 2020, we are two of us and our neighbor Pam. The rest of the family is close and on Zoom. We know who we are. We know who we have in our lives. The presence that keeps on giving!

December 25, 2020