Christmas Present

Patty Swyden Sullivan
(Adams Media Corporation, Fall 2003)

Christmas Present The first year following the breakup of my marriage was a never-ending marathon of obstacles and soul searching. Each day challenged the tried and true approaches to a "normal" life. Living in this state was the mental equivalent of wearing brand new, too-tight shoes. My whole life felt pinched.

The holidays were especially difficult. To my astonishment, Christmas came around again that first year after the divorce. I guess I'd thought, or hoped, the holiday would somehow just pass us by. How would we survive it? My family was disintegrating before my eyes; first with the departure of a husband/dad, and now with a daughter.

Our older daughter, Katie's, anger and distrust had surfaced prior to the divorce, but had accelerated with alarming fury in the aftermath. Though the divorce settlement had been equitable, I had become the sole recipient of Katie's teenage angst.

Then, two weeks shy of her eighteenth birthday; Katie packed her bags and bailed. Simultaneously proclaiming her adulthood and her disdain for both of her parents, she loudly chose not to live with either her father or me. She stuffed away her dream to attend a fine arts college along with her other childhood discards. Instead of wearing J Crew and making the rounds of sorority rush parties, she donned a waitress uniform and moved into an awful apartment. Its barren rooms, stained bathroom fixtures, and broken front door seemed to reflect the pitiful state of our lives and our relationship. The tension between us had become so great, I wondered whether she would even come home for Christmas.

My hope for the holiday was to preserve all of our family's traditions from past Christmas's. I thought if we could recreate the past, the future would feel less frightening.

On Christmas Eve my parents, my sister and brother-in-law, my aunt, my younger daughter, Victoria, and I all gathered for dinner before attending midnight church service, as we had done on every Christmas Eve from the time my daughters were babies. We waited for Katie to arrive. She did not make the appointed hour. We waited some more. Eventually, we served the meal.

Katie finally showed up, cold and breathless. Her dilapidated car had died and she'd walked several blocks in the freezing weather donned in heels and hose to join us. She sat at the opposite end of the table from me, never once speaking to me or looking in my direction. Brrr.

When it was time to leave for church, Katie, relishing the attentiveness of her aunt and uncle, rode in their car. Victoria and I followed in my car. After the service, Katie again got into the car with my sister and her husband. I assumed they were driving her back to my home, where I had planned for her to spend the night. But they never arrived.

I dialed my sister's home number; no answer. I dialed my mother; no answer. I became hysterical. It is uncanny how stress manipulates your power to reason. What could I have been imagining? That they had run off with her? Perhaps left her on the streets to walk back to her abandoned car? I have no idea what I was thinking at the time, but I remember exactly what I was feeling: distraught and fragile. Extremely fragile.

After what seemed to be endless pacing and ranting at the gods for stealing my hope for a warm, loving Christmas, my sister phoned. Katie had instructed them to take her back to her apartment.

How could Katie have preferred to be alone in a run down desolate apartment without family, tradition or celebration of the season? Forget all those things, how could she choose to not be with me for Christmas? When had I become a human alienator? Did I repel everyone within my scope...