December 2006, Boston suburbs, Massachusetts

By Bev Wax

Having gone through a divorce this summer after almost 25 years of marriage, I knew the fall holidays would be, to say the least, different. Now, the official winter holiday season is here but I no longer dread that it too will be different. Instead, I will do my best to embrace the changes a divorce always brings.

On Halloween, my children missed the big house we had to give up in our old suburban neighborhood known for its popularity with trick-or-treaters. I missed decorating and giving out hundreds of candy bars stuffed in goody bags to little ghosts and goblins.

My children were good sports on Thanksgiving, actually on their two Thanksgivings, one with their father and one with me. I was not such a good sport. I was envious of all those who had homes filled with family members, dysfunctional or not. Adding to this, my two sons’ and ex-husband’s birthdays are in the fall. Our wedding anniversary was in November. It was a busy but happy time.

We are now in a rental house without a kitchen table let alone a dining room table. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful, very grateful, to have a roof over our heads … especially during the holiday season when those who are less fortunate are in the forefront of our minds. But it is difficult to move beyond memories of holidays past, including one of the kitchen table on which we celebrated everyone’s birthdays for more than 10 years.

Being of two faiths, we as a family had celebrated Hanukah and Christmas. My ex-husband always happily cut down a ‘mid-winter holiday tree.’ I dutifully balanced a Star of David on top. He cheerfully went along with our annual cookie exchange for families and all their kids. Sometimes more than 150 people filled our large, probably overly decorated home. We hung stockings that always got filled with treats from Santa. We lit the candles for Hanukah, and to ‘compete’ with Christmas, on the last night, had a treasure hunt leading to a big gift for each of our children.

It was fun and filled with events for the kids. And probably a little confusing and quite materialistic. We called it a mid-winter celebration and agreed to not display anything mildly Christian. It was always swag of greens on the front door, never a wreath. I gave away my nativity set my older sister made for me before I got married. In decorating, my themes always stuck to neutral winter colors: white, gold, and silver. We did try blue and white one year as most interfaith couples do at least once.

The kids are older now. One is away at college. There are also two houses now. I still cannot bring myself to call either a home. Subconsciously, even though I still long for the family traditions we created over the years, I intend to be a mature adult (well, most of the time) and realize even Christmas traditions ebb and flow. As for Hanukah, I packed up his family menorah to assure it did not get lost in our frantic last-minute move and know my kids will still celebrate.

And a few days ago, driving around seeing the first decorations, I realized I can finally hang one of those wreaths with a simple red bow on my front door. Whether it’s purchased from the Boy Scouts, the supermarket, or the local nursery, the wreath I take home will be a special symbol to me. It will represent a time to let go of most of the materialistic aspects of the season and celebrate simple pleasures.

I am hoping to remember a little bit of my Christmas past. Perhaps it is horribly nostalgic, but when I grew up, it was one tree in a house, not two or three. One wreath on the front door, not on every window. I had considered hanging colored lights outside but my teen-aged daughter would disown me. So it’s white for now.

Those plastic lawn Santas are also looking awfully tempting. Maybe I can get away with using my daughter’s term and call them ‘retro.’ Then again, she would definitely disown me. As for a nativity set? Not yet. I want to respect my children’s upbringing.

I expect to succumb to a few sad and perhaps even painful moments in the aftermath of my divorce, but I hope the symbol of a simple wreath will help me to not only get through but enjoy the season. Not by giving and receiving material gifts, but by remembering the special gifts of my marriage: my three children.

Bev Wax is a freelance writer and newspaper correspondent/columnist. She lives in the suburbs of Boston, Massachusetts.

Posted by Elizabeth Armstrong Moore on Monday, December 18th, 2006 | Email This Post

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