12 years later,
still silent and empty
By Moristotle
[Originally published on December 23, 2009.]
It behooves me, I think, to try to explain why the Christmas holidays compound life’s sadness, as I said the other day they do.
It’s actually pretty simple. The sadness of life lies in loss. We are born (if we haven’t lost already in the womb) and immediately start losing things, at last our life itself. The holidays are symbolic of our once-upon-a-time hope that loss is an illusion:
Yes, someone died, but nothing he did or could do is going to change anything about our death. The millions who believe that that is not just a myth show remarkable powers of self-deception. Christmas reminds the thoughtful that it just isn’t so, and that may be the deepest sadness of Christmas.
Yes, some families have enough survivors left to mount a gathering, but it is not the same as remembered. It isn’t even remembered accurately, as forgotten animosities resurface, especially when people drink too much or fall back into roles everyone thought they’d outgrown. Or someone dies on the road to Grandma’s house, or spends Christmas in an airport. A statistically significant increase in suicides can be reliably predicted.
The Christmas holidays (including New Year’s Day) are sad for reminding us of particular losses. Our parents are dead, some of our siblings, a number of friends. We can’t quite get back into the child’s belief in Santa Claus – however much authors like Tomie dePaola, in his season’s sensational book, Christmas Remembered, like to try to pretend otherwise (I heard Dick Gordon’s program today on NPR).
True, many can get into Christmas, don’t see anything amiss. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” continues to amuse them. They make out in the gift-exchange, they genuinely enjoy lighting up another’s face with a thoughtful present. They save even more at the Christmas sales than they figured they would, even if it means spending more than they planned to. Or, if they’re in retail, their store loses less than predicted. They get runner-up for best-decorated house in the neighborhood.
For them, the loss comes later. The guests are gone, the house is cold again, the lights to take down. Wrapping materials to discard. Tree to chop up. Unwanted gifts to take back for exchange or refund. The pain of the contrast between a day or two of heightened liveliness and the empty let-down of the day-after.
Loss compounded.
still silent and empty
By Moristotle
[Originally published on December 23, 2009.]
It behooves me, I think, to try to explain why the Christmas holidays compound life’s sadness, as I said the other day they do.
It’s actually pretty simple. The sadness of life lies in loss. We are born (if we haven’t lost already in the womb) and immediately start losing things, at last our life itself. The holidays are symbolic of our once-upon-a-time hope that loss is an illusion:
Nature doesn’t really die during this time of dark and ice, but renews with the coming of spring. We don’t really die, for someone born many years ago did something to ensure that we might live forever. Our families may have split apart, but during this time we can get together again as though nothing has changed. [No citation was given; I don’t know where this quotation came from.]Yes, Nature for a few more seasons will be renewed, but not forever and ever. Our planet is undergoing changes and, even if Nature wins the fight to survive, it survives only for a while, until the death of the sun.
Yes, someone died, but nothing he did or could do is going to change anything about our death. The millions who believe that that is not just a myth show remarkable powers of self-deception. Christmas reminds the thoughtful that it just isn’t so, and that may be the deepest sadness of Christmas.
Yes, some families have enough survivors left to mount a gathering, but it is not the same as remembered. It isn’t even remembered accurately, as forgotten animosities resurface, especially when people drink too much or fall back into roles everyone thought they’d outgrown. Or someone dies on the road to Grandma’s house, or spends Christmas in an airport. A statistically significant increase in suicides can be reliably predicted.
The Christmas holidays (including New Year’s Day) are sad for reminding us of particular losses. Our parents are dead, some of our siblings, a number of friends. We can’t quite get back into the child’s belief in Santa Claus – however much authors like Tomie dePaola, in his season’s sensational book, Christmas Remembered, like to try to pretend otherwise (I heard Dick Gordon’s program today on NPR).
True, many can get into Christmas, don’t see anything amiss. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” continues to amuse them. They make out in the gift-exchange, they genuinely enjoy lighting up another’s face with a thoughtful present. They save even more at the Christmas sales than they figured they would, even if it means spending more than they planned to. Or, if they’re in retail, their store loses less than predicted. They get runner-up for best-decorated house in the neighborhood.
For them, the loss comes later. The guests are gone, the house is cold again, the lights to take down. Wrapping materials to discard. Tree to chop up. Unwanted gifts to take back for exchange or refund. The pain of the contrast between a day or two of heightened liveliness and the empty let-down of the day-after.
Loss compounded.
| Copyright © 2009, 2021 by Moristotle |
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