For as long as I can
remember, and most likely from the time I was born, I spent every Christmas Eve
except one with my parents until they died, my mother in 1991 and my father in
1995. (in 1959 I spent Christmas in Santa Fe with college friends.) With only one or two exceptions,
this family tradition continued from the time my children were born until last
year, my first Christmas Eve without any of the children. It was only a matter of time before this
lifelong tradition would give way to a newer order of family, but understanding
the inevitable could not erase some of the sorrow and loneliness of that
experience.
Shortly after Christmas,
Patience and I visited Paducah KY, and in a matter of weeks made the decision
to sell the practice and the farm and make Paducah our retirement
destination. In the months that
followed the slow and inexorable process of letting go of place, friends, and
so much of what has become familiar in our lives has been at work, both at a
conscious and unconscious level. Although I anticipated much of the change, I
have been a little surprised by the nature of letting go of family. I am feeling a sense of detachment from
my children that is difficult to explain...certainly not a lessening of my love
or my commitment, but a feeling that we are all moving into a new stage in our
relationship. It is one where the
bonds that hold us together as a family are now longer, looser, and more flexible
(but no less resilient), allowing us all to move freely in the directions of
our choice.
As a result of all of this I
no longer expect Christmas Eve to be a gathering of all our children, though I
have not given up hope that it can be. If circumstances allow us to be together (This year we
shared the evening with Sara and Dave and Beth and her family) then that is an
appreciated bonus. If we find
ourselves scattered, that is OK, a sign of our family's evolution and maturity
and the birth of new primary families.
