Just thirteen days till Christmas day 2025. There is an old saying, a watched pot never boils, and I have come to understand the meaning of that. I'm definitely not looking forward, anticipating the day, anxious for its' arrival. That isn't to say I don't enjoy the day, the festivities, the excitement and nostalgia associated with that, I do. I'm just saying, time flies. It's a common enough observation from anyone that has been around for more than two decades at least. It's still surprising at times, that surprise appears to last year after year.
This morning my thoughts travel to 1964. I was eleven years old and excited for Christmas. Old enough to know the whole Santa thing and old enough to play along. I can't say I remember anything in particular about that day in 1964, it was, after all sixty one years ago. I was going to school, looking forward to whatever gifts I would get and in general not paying attention. I had no thought that it would be the last Christmas I spent with my oldest brother. Brother Harold had joined the Navy! He was seventeen years old, had quit high school, and anxious to go out into the world. He didn't quit high school because of the course work, that was easy enough for him, but rather it was time to be a man, see the world. In 1964 that was a very common thing for young men to do. It was commendable, a wise decision and fully supported.
Harold did go off in the Navy and never returned home to live with us again. That was something that just wasn't done, not an option back in those days. When you left home, you were gone. I do remember him writing to me a few times and sending me a Navy magazine called All Hands. That magazine had a centerfold at that time, scantily clad young ladies engaged in some Naval activity, like steering the ship or painting. A monthly publication in print until 2011. It continues in digital format. By the time Harold had finished his enlistment he was married, with children. In 1971 I was in boot camp at Great Lakes. Just seven years had passed between the two dates.
The years rolled on by, quickly. I never again shared another Christmas morning with Harold. I can't say for certain that I never saw him again on Christmas day, but if I did, I surely do not remember it. Life just has a way of keeping you busy. I stayed in the Navy and so moved about a great deal. Seldom was I in the same state as my brother. Eventually I did retire from the Navy and settled down in Maryland. I was just twenty miles from my brothers house! But, we were both still busy living our lives, going to work, yes I had a full time job after retiring from the Navy, you don't really retire on that pension. We did get together occasionally but never shared the holiday together. I can offer no explanation for that, it's just the way it was.
In 2014, just five days before Christmas day, my brother passed away. I struggle to remember the last time I saw him, just when that took place. I could have, should have gone to his side, I was aware he was having serious health issues. I just didn't know how serious, or didn't want to admit that to myself. And today it is eleven years later and I wonder where that decade went. In 2018 my sister passed, also in December. I did get to see her that month, I enjoyed her Christmas tree with her. Seven years ago that seems like forever.
Christmas is a nostalgic time when you get older. The anticipation, the excitement you felt as a child has disappeared. For many, it becomes a depressing time. I'm not depressed about any of that. I just refuse to be sad. I can't allow that to happen when I have been so blessed over the years. Blessed with family and friends. Blessed with memories. Yes there are "circumstances" of an unpleasant nature associated with Christmas as well. Life isn't a Hallmark movie, it doesn't always have a happy ending. But that's no reason to dwell on that, you can't change things in the past. My grandfather, Horace Bennett, a man I never met, passed on Christmas Eve in 1949.
All of them are with me everyday, even Grandfather Horace. I see them, I hear their voices, their laughter. It is how I choose to remember them. It does no good to wish for what you can't have. I can't go back in time and change anything at all. No need to be sad about any of that. We are all just passing through, on the same road and not one of us knows where we are going. It is the promise of a destination that keeps us moving forward. Each person must decide upon that for themselves. I believe we are going somewhere, this isn't the end. Exactly where, I leave open, I'm thinking I don't get a choice about that. My biggest hope is that I know it. Maybe I won't get to be with all those that have gone before me, but I don't want to forget about them, know what I mean? Memories are what keep me moving forward, because I am looking back. The trail is familiar. I know how to deal with the obstacles but more importantly, I take the time to enjoy the view.
.jpg)
Brother Harold 1965
No comments:
Post a Comment