Skip to main content

What Will Be Will Be

So next week starts my favorite time of the year.  Even though Thanksgiving isn't "my holiday" meaning I'm not hosting, cooking or decorating, it is the prelim for Christmas and all that is good about the shortest, coldest days of the year. Family.  Friends.  Carols.  Cooking and Baking.  Gifts for those I love.  I've already got the new replacement decorations lined up for changing from the brown and orange fall decor to greens, silvers and golds. Let the fun begin.

Wingman loved Thanksgiving because he loved good food and lots of it, but would turn into Ebenezer Scrooge the day after. I should have figured that the man who gave me a frying pan our first Christmas really didn't like the holidays the way I did. His only concession to enjoyment was watching Charlie Brown's Christmas once a season.  Last year, Thanksgiving was only four months after his passing.  I had Thanksgiving dinner with my parents, but wasn't asked to join the in-laws: everyone was still licking their wounds from losing both him and his father within months of each other.  Me and my sons were but a painful reminder.  Que sera, sera.

This year, my friends have invited me to some really cool holiday events up to and including New Years Eve.  I was really looking forward to one of them until someone asked "What the F#@% do you want to go to that one for?" My entire holiday bubble deflated as fast as a cigarette to a helium balloon as I was talked out of what was to be a beautiful evening. And I questioned myself-why do I want to go to them?  What am I trying to prove...and to whom?  After all, all of them are couple parties and I'm THE WIDOW.  I rationalized that I come home to the nicely renovated house, and I eat alone, and watch TV alone and I'm going to go crazy ALONE unless I do something and open myself up to doing things that make me happy. All the Christmas trees and lights and cookies in New Jersey won't do it if I'm alone and doing nothing.

Then something wonderful happened at work.  A woman who Wingman and I catered for years ago came in.  She didn't know he had passed and we shared some family stories.  Then she quietly invited me to do something with her and her husband.  Me, the widow. Something, she said, that will make me remember the real meaning of Christmas. We exchanged phone numbers, and I said that I would be in touch.

The story could have stopped there, but she called me yesterday, and insisted I join them. Tonight.  So instead of sitting home alone, I will be volunteering with others. Sharing my night with people who care less about tuxes and gowns that they wear to feel good about themselves than in giving joy to others.  Because there are people, wonderful people in my life who want to make the world a better place, and want to include me in their joy instead of making me sad.

And for that, I am grateful.  Grateful for finding this before a deflated holiday bubble turned me into Scrooge myself.

Happy Thanksgiving. If the weather is good, I plan to go to NYC and see the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. Maybe check something off of my Awesome List!  Then, I am going to celebrate and give thanks for what I have-not what I am missing or what I want.  Because after all, it's a wonderful time of year, and a wonderful world.

Popular posts from this blog

I'm Too Sexy For My Shirt

Wingman use to call me many things. Obstinate. Overcritical. Certainly bitchy. I even recall on our wedding day that he called me "beautiful". But that was a one-time happening, and I don't recall him ever crooning Eric Clapton"s "You Look Wonderful Tonight" after that. So it comes as no surprise that he never called me "sexy".

And I get it.  When I went to school in NYC, a couple of my friends were stopped by Eileen Ford and asked to come to her agency to model.  They were cute, and one was even, in an exotic way, sexy even back then.  But not me. I was and always will be, fine with how I look.

There were some things over the years that got me when I stopped dying my hair and grew it out to donate for a wig.  As part of a lecture that I did on The Avon Walk For Breast Cancer, I had my beautician come in and cut my waist-long hair short. The following Sunday at church, I was a Eucharistic Minister, which at a Catholic Mass is a re…

'Cause Baby You're A Firework. Come On Show Them What You're Worth

Five years ago today, I stood in a hospital room strewn with used syringes, rubber gloves and other medical waste, looking at the lifeless body of the man that I shared a life with for over 30 years. I should have been thinking of family, love and loss.  Instead, my first thought was, "Wow, I'm a widow now." Pretty pathetic in retrospect, and when Wingman referred to me just before I left him as "The Bitch", probably not too far off the mark.

But in time-warped speed just a half hour before that, I had already talked to the hospital twice, woken son #3 up to go over to the hospital with me, called Wingman's brother on the way, fought with a gimpy legged night watchman who wouldn't let us in the hospital, and finally took "that meeting" in a small private room where the doctor told my son and I that they did everything possible, but unfortunately (UNFORTUNATELY???) Wingman had passed. My brain was filled with what to do, who to call, …

But She Use To Have A Carefree Mind Of Her Own, With A Devilish Look In Her Eye

The first time I went out with Wingman, he remarked about how much I reminded him of his mother.  When we finally met, I just didn't see it: she was a tall, chain-smoking blonde, with a Lauren Bacall-esque voice, while I considered myself just an average size brunette with no distinguishable qualities.

She and I began our own relationship with stories about our lives, and she won every round of "Can You Top This". At 10 years old, she helped deliver her brother when her mother went into labor at home. Later, her alcoholic mother walked out on the family and was never seen or heard from again, so she dropped out of school to help. At 19, she and her husband eloped, and thought no one knew.  A photographer however, took a picture of them outside City Hall which became the cover of the afternoon edition of the NY World Telegram. (Oops.) A couple of years later, her very pregnant self drove her father and his equally pregnant girlfriend to City Hall in Newark to MAKE them get…