Mist of Memory

Thanksgiving has come and gone, leaving behind a tumultuous mix of unearthed feelings and memories.  Memories of family gatherings meld in my mind with a mixed sense of loss and relief.  I miss my Mom and my Dad (whose birthday is today) and my brother (who would have commiserated over the phone with me in Michigan over Dad’s special day) and my best friend who left this earth far too early.  But I do not miss the hoopla and drinking associated with the holidays that was downright painful at times.

These days I am blessed to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas alone with my husband and sometimes along with good friends.  Most of both of our families are gone and the few remaining members are ailing or distant, either geographically and/or emotionally.

My husband and I spoke just yesterday of not missing the family gatherings where each of us, as Aspies, felt we were the outsider.  I remember often crying tears of loneliness when in the midst of gobbling, gabbing relatives, boozing it up beyond the line of moderation.

Though I miss many family members and friends with an indelible ache in my heart, I do not miss the social gatherings at all.  Nor even the festivities.  It has taken me years to get over the necessity of being “festive,” coming as I did from a very Italian family.  My husband cured me of this compulsion with his mix of  Waspiness and  Asperger’s.

Being Bipolar as well, the holidays catapult my moods into danger zones from November well into January.  I love the idea of Thanksgiving and the giving of Christmas but there is always at least one major crash after the highs of anticipation, and more than one major meltdown the night  before and after the big day.  The holidays have always signified the passage of time for me– even as a little girl.  And the passage of time brings loss as well as joy.  I remember crying inconsolably when my mother read me the story of “The Little Fir Tree” about the Christmas tree who, after being decorated and celebrated, was tossed out in the garbage heap the day after Christmas.  We no longer get live trees for this very reason.

The anticipation of the holidays is well over the top and reality can never measure up to expectations.   My Aspie husband is never thrilled by my much-obsessed-over gifts for him.  I search endlessly for that gift that will light up his face– in vain.  I told him this recently and he said something that will forever change my feelings about the holidays and gifts and all that jazz.  He told me that I was his gift and he is thrilled to share his life with me.   That is the best gift anyone could give.   It is the best gift anyone could receive.  One’s heart.  For it is love that forever shines through the mist of memory.