Christmas Eve Gift

Christmas Eve gift. A tradition that has been in my family long before I was born. The object is to call your family members and be the first one to say Christmas Eve gift. My oldest aunt was an especially early riser and since the time I moved out on my own would call me at 4 am so she would catch me asleep and not ready. Every year the the night before Christmas Eve I would vow to be awake waiting for her call. But always she would call before my alarm would go off and get me every time. She died several years ago by my family carries the tradition on. I being so much nicer waited for my family members to be a little semi conscious. My first aunt beat me to the punch, my mother was still asleep so I won. My other aunt is so hard of hearing that screaming Christmas Eve gift four or five times quite loudly just somehow lost its appeal so I spared us both the agony. I called my cousins in CA and NV and much to my surprise they had turned their phones off the night before. Finally, I called Kyler and before he could say anything shouted Christmas Eve Gift. What? he echoed in surprise. Christmas Eve gift. Suddenly I realized I had never included my children in the game. This was the first time they had been away from me on Christmas Eve morning and they had no idea of the tradition. So I began the process of explaining the history and the point to which I got a less than enthusiastic response. I don't think he will be waking up at 4 am next year to call me. But it made me stop, traditions. Do I really want another tradition to begin. For the past three years I have run from tradition. I have run from the memories of what Christmas use to be. I demanded we not spend our first Christmas without Jacob at home. My precious inlaws indulged me and left their families to spend the holiday on a cruise. The next year still running, still fleeing from the memories I said we would make the "sacrifice" and go to Florida and spend it with Zachary's girlfriend's family. It was not great sacrifice it was my salvation. To spend even one moment in our house which holds so many memories and traditions was too unbearable, too heart wrenching for me to comprehend. As the holidays drew closer my children demanded this year we stay home. Home where the memories of so many glorious Christmas' and so many fun filled traditions were held. The one place I did not want to be. To be in the home where once three boys excitedly huddled every Christmas morn while dad and I stumbled down the hallway putting on robes while fumbling to get the movie camera going. Where we sat in the living room ready to capture each moment while three little boys soon grown men would rush in with bated breath and squeal with delight at the bikes or drums or the car stereos. The look of excitement in their eyes was such a thrill and worth getting up early the day after Thanksgiving to get that special edition of James Bond game. The last Christmas we had at home tradition was broken, the blizzard. We were unable to go to my mom's and have Christmas Eve. We spent it together at home. At bedtime Jacob grabbed his brothers and said they were all going to sleep in the same bed. The twinkle in his eyes, the giant arms around the other two, I knew would be a long night of laughter, of farts, of wedges and more. That imagine still haunts me. I want that laughter, the twinkle in his eyes. I want the giant arms to circle around me and hug me once more. I would even take the farts from him now. To come back tonight after my mother's and there only be two boys going to bed, one with his wife, one alone. To lie down in our bed, the silence piercing through my heart, the seconds ticking away toward morning. The morning coming and before my eyes can even open the memories the thoughts will come flooding in. And with that my heart will slam to a stop to know that he is not here. To walk down that hall and know when I open that door he will be gone. To try and do the traditions that once were filled with happy memories and will be no more, how, how does one do that? How does one participate in a life that seems so unfair? A life where your arms ache so to hold him one more time, to feel his embrace, to hear his laughter and the smile on his face. Traditions that once brought comfort now bring tears and such pain. I want to come to a time when I can cherish those memories. But right now the memories cut to my very inner core with salt pouring in and the scalding effect takes one breath away. So how do you do tradition? I run. I run far far away, a cruise, Florida, my closet, my mind, until I can run no longer. I still have two precious boys that want to be home, that want to do tradition. I want that stability for them. I love them more than my life itself so you put on that face, your raise up your head, you laugh, you talk, you do life while inside you die a little more each day. Hoping the farther you can run that maybe someday you will outrun the hurt. But until then yes, you go on with traditions and even start new ones. Ones that can be passed down to their children because that is what family is. Memories and life together, here and now. Christmas Eve Gift.