celebrations

All is unwrapped and the demystification complete. I got rocks. Wonderful, beautiful rocks. Large ones for my yard and small ones for my ears. I got a huge flannel robe. Maybe too big, but that's what I wanted. We now have a Wii. My husband already threw his back out bowling or batting or swinging a golf club or something. It isn't his.

I had a long talk with my son. Longest of our lives, perhaps. He is loved, and he loves. He is so like me in his need for privacy within a relationship. He said he was as happy alone for three days as he is at a party, and yet he loves this girl. I apologized for the genetics. I know it is mine. It is good to be loved, and a difficult thing to allow. I know. I allow it. Day after day. I don't think it is related to self-esteem so much. Not the way I used to. I just think we are cautious.

He talked to me about my nephews and meth and crack cocaine and all of that. Apparently it is still not all that lucrative to sell coke. He told me of a suicide attempt by one of the boys and a one day stint in the mental ward. Like that would help. And the theft of time from their children. And the family disease keeps on keepin' on. I know my son remembers his childhood and my absence and all we didn't have. So, I wrote a long Christmas letter to my nephews this morning, telling them what little I can about our family's religious beliefs and its relationship to addiction. It is a letter of hope, and of experience, and maybe a little strength. But it is only a letter. And they will do what they will do. We have a particularly virulent strain in my family. Deadly.

So, I will plant my rocks, and my herb garden, and my sporty new baby blue jacket my son sent me, along with a framed picture of him in a raft on the Deschutes River. And I am so proud of him, given who we are, to get up every morning and do it again. He is the greatest gift of my life.

Merry Christmas to all who read this. I am grateful for this day, and any other.