HouseofKel: Together

This essay was written in September 2022

With the death of my father Ivan on November 27^th, 2022 the ending of this piece is not current but I leave it as is out of respect for the work and for my Dad

“It’s chaos in the car seats

Heading south on 65

They’re asking ‘Are we there yet?’

Every minute of the drive

To be together at Christmastime”

One of the most memorable aspects of my Christmas tradition has always been the time that I got to spend with my family. Christmas was spent together each and every year. A few siblings (4) and large extended relations meant for an abundant yuletide season. Yes, my experience was very Canadian, very white bread, and very privileged. I suppose, in a sense, it still is. I wanted for little but every year I got so much. The death of my mother changed things. She seems to have been the glue. It is not that I don’t have relationships with my directly related kin, it is time and complications and effort that now seem to stand in my way. As 60 approaches, my memory reads more like a book than anything else. It is hardcover and vast and comes with much clarity. I regard my youth, my siblings, my extended family. I remember it all so well. With the good always comes the sad. There will be no more Christmas dinners with my mother and soon enough, no more with my Dad. My first partner will soon be joined by his mother, my friend. It’s a race to see which one of my siblings dies first. Even my 18 year-old cat is a constant reminder that life will always go on, even if you’re not in it. Christmas seems to suffer a little more each and every year. There seems to be no want or need in spending time together. Christmas has become a benchmark, a persistent reminder that the older I get, the more dead people I know.

“The last flight out was canceled

'Cause of unexpected snow

She’s sleeping in the terminal

With the whole world headed home

To be together at Christmastime”

My first partner and I lived in the heart of Toronto for almost a year. It was a land of temptation, full of extremes and unpredictable variants. We certainly gave those months our best effort. The relocation exposed us for the first time to the Gay village and options and choices. Life became a buffet of self-indulgent tripe. I have to admit, 1994 was a blur. I didn’t see my family, I lost touch with most of my friends. I spent a lot of money, money it turns out I no longer had. I occasionally talked to my Mom by phone and she sent a few letters just so we could be together. What started out as fun soon became a challenge, the high cost of living something we didn’t consider when we decided to join the Greater Toronto Area. As the Yuletide season approached, Mom asked me to come home for Christmas. She didn’t mean to spend a few days, she meant come home for always. Even then, Toronto living was very expensive. I’m surprised Doug and I made it a month, let alone almost a year. We moved in a few weeks, locating to my other hometown of Strathroy. It’s not that we planned to relocate, yet again. It was my mother’s pleading and we simply had no choice. We arrived just in time for Christmas. At least, we could all be together.

“I’m singing out this song

'Til every lonely soul has heard

We’re not alone 'cause love

Has put His arms around the world

To be together at Christmastime”

I’ve never known a Christmas without Jesus. I don’t buy into the hyperbole surrounding Him any more than I believe He actually walked on water or was born in a manger with a star up above. I worry more about things like feeding the poor and forgiveness for one and all. I haven’t been a Christian in almost 20 years but He lingers. I hear Him in compassion and see Him through charity. He is hope for the downtrodden and mercy for the seeking. I cannot escape His message regardless of all the messengers who have come along with him on the Way. The very core of the Christmas story is that God is with us. I believe this. As with all myth and legend, the message is more important than those messengers. As a child, I marveled. The very idea that God came down and had been one of us drove me deeper into the Christian faith. Surely, He would then understand the experience of being human. He would understand my sin and my weakness and my hurting soul. If God loved us so much that He sent us Himself, then nothing matters but that truth. He didn’t do it for just my mother or my father or even me. He didn’t do it just for those who believe. He came for everyone, well knowing short was the time they would spend together.

“So every time that lonely feeling

Comes around again

Listen love is knocking

Yeah, wanting to come in

To be together”

My father is 84 years old. I don’t see him as much as I should, although I take every chance I get at being together, even if only for a brief time .I still speak to him every day by landline, a constant since the passing of his wife. Christmas just doesn’t seem to be Christmas without her. Yes, we all join in every Christmas season. We get together, we exchange gifts and we send fond wishes to one and all. We all still decorate and celebrate and spread the cheer. Each of us has our own new memories, new things to cherish, new joy to embrace. It doesn’t seem the same without her in it. The lingering reach touches each one of us, at least that’s how I see things. I imagine he will sit alone this Christmas Eve, waiting until he meets her once again. So many pictures, so many touchstones and he may well be overcome. The pain in his soul more real than the struggle of his body. I know he will tell himself it won’t be long now. The Christmas tree will sparkle, the chocolate will always taste sweet but he sits waiting, soon they will be together.

“When you open up that door

To old familiar rooms of love and laughter

Coming home just the way you are

Knowing this is all that really matters

To be together at Christmastime

To be together”

(To Be Together, Amy Grant 2018)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jlsM1H2s2Y8

I put the ornamental Christmas tree on a prominent branch, just like every year. My Mom smiles, laughing in its window. She is everywhere, all around the house.. The red Christmas sled hangs just below, it holds his name for all the world to see. There are flashes of him in yuletide décor, triggers just like the year before. The angel from my father sits mere memories away. Just like the many gifts he has given, my Dad is already a part of our home at Christmas time. Ben and I are there together and so are the cats. So many searching souls brought together by the birth of a child and a 9-foot spruce. I gather myself around them each Christmastime. I am filled with a melancholy but I am also filled with hope. Christmas adds to the religious flavour of my home. I have symbols and artwork in that vein scattered throughout the place and throughout the year. The Christmas season finds the Christian God idolatrized in glimmer and shiny glaze. Jesus is everywhere, along with the snowmen and the angels and the reindeer poop dispenser. If only He was in my heart like He is in my house. I wonder if he has run out of rooms? Somewhere, off in the distance, like the Christmas star of old, “God” is watching us. He doesn’t sit in judgment, He knows. He doesn’t condemn, He understands. This God is with us, promising that one day, no matter who, no matter what, we can all be together.