Giddy-not
Goji and I sat in the waiting room of the doctor’s office for almost an hour before the doctor was finally able to see us. This was highly unusual because we had an appointment and the secretary was generally good about spacing patients apart. The doctor apologized profusely and thanked us for waiting patiently. When I inquired if there were more sick people who showed up that day, she confided that more people tend to get depressed this time of year. They went to see her for physiological pains but poured their hearts as the consultation progressed.
This is a sad time for a lot of people. It is for me too. Even my brothers, who are usually reserved, expressed how they miss the giddy feeling we all shared growing up. Santa was very much a part of our childhood and Christmas eve was always about raiding our Dad’s drawers for his socks so we can hang them by our beds. We made sure we had notes in the socks so Santa won’t confuse which sock was for whom. Daddy would always tell us about Santa and how he can’t be seen at all because each child who sees him adds a year to his life. Heaven forbid that he should grow too old to be flying around. And so when we hear a noise on the roof, we would all scram to our beds and close our eyes so we don’t accidentally make him years older.
Even when we didn’t have much growing up, and the Noche Buena spread was simple, my parents made sure we felt like millionaires. There was so much love to go around. When all but one moved out and we had our own families, we still converged to that house in Mayflower Street to get a refill, no, make that an overdose, of love. Even cousins, friends and neighbors drop by and stay awhile to chat because they always felt welcomed.
That is all so far away and such a long time ago. Santa stopped coming when we were older but he came back to my own house when I had my own kids. I no longer feel the same intense excitement I had as a child when December rolled around. Having spent four Christmases (counting this one which is two days away from now) away from home don’t help either.
As I write this, my thoughts lead me back to those poor souls who don’t have anyone but the family doctor to share their pains. I’m so much luckier. I have my hubby and two kids with me, my family back home who think about me, and most of all, I have those wonderful Christmas memories to get me through another Christmas away from home.
