This may be a bit of a rollercoaster. I apologize in advance.
Every year, from as early as I can remember My father's family would get together on Christmas Eve and have a giant party. I remember everybody making one or more dishes and bringing them to my Aunt Sharon's and Uncle Barry's house. My Granny seemed to live for the cooking aspect of the holiday seasons. She loves to feed people great food, and she loves to share her cooking techniques (which she almost always describes as easy, even when they definitely aren't). I honestly believe that my love of cooking comes from the time I spent with her in her kitchen, watching her cook. Her house was always full of the aroma of perfectly seasoned food. Most of my complicated recipes are meals that I learned from her or ideas that I got while spending time at her home.
At Aunt Sharon's house, all of the cousins would hang out and spend our time either attempting to be like the adults and playing pool, playing football and arguing over exactly what kind of rules we wanted to follow, or playing video games together and taking turns with the controllers. This was a different kind of family gathering. We would spend several hours together eating, joking, and having a good time, and then it would happen. Nene (One of my great-aunts) would come out in a Santa Claus costume. We all knew it was her. I think even the small children knew that it was her, but we all pretended to be super surprised and super excited to see Santa because this was all part of the game. Christmas here wasn't about the gifts. Christmas with the Vogts and the Mayfields and the Brunets was about family. it was about every minute that we got to spend together. It was something special that i have not experienced in any other situation growing up. What I remember more than anything else was the excitement on my Grandfather, Grampsy's face. He and his sisters, Nene and Aunt Sharon, would be grinning ear to ear. They LOVED being together and they loved their family. Every minute spent around them would feel like an eternity. Every minute in Aunt Sharon's house was MAGICAL. I didn't know it then, but this would be one of my all time favorite memories growing up.
After Katrina, I would never experience this Christmas again. The once close-knit family was spread out across a few states, and to make things even harder, Aunt Sharon passed away a few years ago. Every year, as the holiday approaches, I think of her. I remember little life lessons that she taught me. I remember her kindness, but most of all I remember her honesty. I try to remember how honest she was with me when she didn't like something I did or something I said. She made me feel loved, but she still corrected me. One thing about Aunt Sharon, I never called her that. She was Aunt Dee Dee. I have no idea why.
This Christmas celebration, while not happening today, helped to mold me into who I am today. I can spend today lamenting that it can never again happen the way that it once did, or I can keep that energy in my heart. I can remember the laughter and the games and the love, and I can pass that energy on to my children, and even more so, out into the world.
Usually Later that night, my Father would cart us over to Granny and Grampsy's house where Santa had already dropped off gifts that My Dad had ordered. This time, while it always felt rushed, was very important to me. We had some very close time together with my brother and sister, and we would gleefully open gifts. This was a standard Christmas experience. The next morning we would have the same experience at my Mom's house. We would wake up and receive our gifts. We would celebrate what we got with each other. Individually excited both for ourselves and our siblings.
At some point during the day we would go to see my Mom's parents who we called Nunu and Pop Pop. Pop Smoked. He would sit in his reclining chair, with his end table to his right, and he would smoke cigarettes while we hung out in the house. He had a glass ash tray on his end table, and he LOVED handheld poker games. Nunu would usually sit on the sofa, close to Pop, but still separated by the end table and two armrests. Nunu drank coffee. She drank coffee. She drank a lot of coffee. Actually, I don't think I am describing this vividly enough. Nunu's house smelled like a combination of cigarettes and coffee. It was a thick smell, a pungent smell. The smell was so thick that when people smoke cigarettes around me, it brings me back to their house. I can see the ceramic gas heaters, the giant console television, the beautiful white oak floors in the dining room, the picture of Tom Sawyer hanging over the television. I can feel how excited Nunu was to see us receive our gifts, and I remember Pop always making us feel special. They are both gone now. I would love for them to be here with my daughters. I would love to be able to go on one more golfing trip with Pop. I would love to eat Nunu's Roast over bread one more time. I want to go visit their old house, but it is gone too. Sometimes I drive there and just stare at the empty lot, imagining and remembering where each room was, pretending in my mind that I am once again riding my bike up and down the sidewalk that was badly broken by the tree roots. Katrina. Again. They passed away, but individually, and separately. Their losses were tremendously painful for me, each in unique ways.
I often remember Nunu saying "Be Nice." She had a love for her grandkids that was unmistakable. It was pure and raw. She was so proud of everything that we had become. She taught me how to show excitement for others. She taught me how to smile, even when everything hurts because there is always something to be thankful for.
I remember Pop cooking on the grill. He would always drink too much and burn everything, but he tried. He taught me the value of being alone while still being around family. He would go outside for hours at a time to cook. He was close to the family, but he was able to go outside and reflect on life. Often, when I am grilling, I can feel his presence. Watching. Supervising, but never criticizing because you don't tell a man how to grill at his own house.
When I met my wife, her family immediately made me feel like I belonged as a part of their family. Two very important figures in doing this was Brook's Maw Maw and Paw Paw. From the day I met them, that's what I've called them, Maw Maw and Paw Paw. That's not only how they introduced themselves, but those titles are what they embodied at that moment, and every moment I spent with them after. To my surprise, Brook's family did something magical for Christmas. They have a family Christmas party that is reminiscent of the party that Aunt Sharon had on Christmas Eve. They cook. They eat. They play games. They give gifts. They celebrate life, love, and family. Paw Paw was the patriarch of the family. He passed away last year. He was the one that seemed to drive the energy in the room. Even just sitting there quietly and observing how everyone was interacting, he was loud. His energy was the most unique of anyone I have ever met. I'll never forget his sayings and his stories, but more than anything I'll remember the way he and Maw Maw made me feel loved from the very first interaction with them. When Jesus says "Love one another," he is surely referring to the kind of love that the two of them poured into the world over their lifetimes.
For the last 14 years or so, these Christmas parties have been some of my favorite times of my life. Not only do we have the food, fun, and family time that I had growing up, but we even have our very own Santa Claus. We all moan and grown when we have to take family pictures in front of the tree, but I think we know how important it is to save precious memories in picture format. We share stories of how our lives are going. We give gifts to each other. Most importantly though, we plan what we are cooking for the next holiday.
During the holidays I sometimes yearn for the way that things once were. I miss Aunt Sharon, Nunu, Pop, and Paw Paw. I miss many others that I couldn't mention for the sake of not making this post a 3 hour read. I often wish that I had a time machine to go back to just observe. I want to relive those days if only for a few moments.
People will tell you that life goes on after loss, and while that is true, it is much more honest to say that life is different after loss. I've tried everything from shutting down and cutting people out of my life, to embracing the loss and trying to find some positivity. There is one thing that has kept me positive and cheerful this holiday season: Remembering my duty to those that are no longer with us. They all instilled life lessons in me. They taught me HOW to show love. They taught me that it is ok if you don't express your emotions like the person next to you, but that if you can improve another person's life, even for a moment, then the effort is worth it, and worth even more if that person is family.
When we are remembering those that we have lost during the holiday season, I try to remember that if we never forget the way they made us feel or the lessons they taught us, and if we always share the love that they gave us, then they are always with us. It's up to us to keep the love they had for us alive, so that's what I'm doing today. I truly hope that this post is something positive for the people who see it. I hope that the stories find you well and that the love that my family members shared with me throughout my 35 years of life reaches your heart today.
Merry Christmas.
I hope that your day is full of love.
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