The holiday season was not an easy one for me. Delphine had loved Christmas. The time from Thanksgiving to Christmas to New Year's was her favorite time of year. She liked the way the city lights and the Christmas lights looked in the snow. She was much more religious than I had ever been, so she loved church around this time of year. A lot of times when I thought of Del, I pictured what she would look like as an adult. But, around the holidays, images of when she was a child clouded my thoughts. I could picture her sitting in the chair, staring out the window into the depths of the city. She'd turn around with a smile. It was amazing how often she could smile, through everything.
December came on a Friday. Since Thanksgiving, Em seemed to be in good spirits, but he was also distracted by his phone more. I could gauge that he was texting someone who made him smile. I was jealous, but had no reason to be. Em deserved to have someone make him smile. He still talked to me. He still listened to me. He still did his job. Nonetheless, I missed him. It was shameful of me to feel that way. The cold weather and dreary days made it difficult to smile. Everyone visiting their families...I hated the holiday season.
"If you could have your way, what would you do to make this season better for you?" Cheryl asked me at my session.
"I don't know," I said, slouching in the chair. "I feel like any progress I've made in getting better has been a sham. I don't know what to do."
Cheryl was good at looking sympathetic, but this time she looked more than that. It almost made me feel bad that I wasn't doing well. "Progress isn't easy to tackle and it's not easy to track either," she said.
"What if I never get better?" I asked, looking at the ceiling.
"Well, I know we talked about this awhile ago, but have you given antidepressants another thought?" she asked.
"I was thinking about it the other day," I said. "I guess they did help when I was a kid." After I tried killing myself, when I was in the facility, I was on antidepressants. If Delphine had been on antidepressants, would she still be alive? "I can try them again," I said.
Cheryl nodded. "It is always your choice, and if it's not working then you can change it again," she said.
"I know," I said. Knowing I had the control helped, just a little. "To your question, about making the season better, I guess...I guess I could try hosting my family."
Cheryl couldn't hide her surprise. "Ok, what would you do?" she asked.
"I've thought about it a lot before. I would have them over and just have dinner and give them gifts. I don't know what else I could do. I know Mom would like it, but I feel like we would fight. It's just hard, being around them," I said.
"What makes you want to host them?" she asked.
"I don't know. I feel guilty for not being closer with them," I said. "I want to have a family I am close with. I usually don't want to try because I don't think it would change anything, but it's been a long time since we've all gotten together."
"What would be the con in trying?"
I shrugged. "We would just fight and it would solidify what I thought all along - there is no point in trying again," I said. "I guess I could still try, because the worst that could happen is we keep things the way they are."
So that is how I decided to invite my family over for the holidays. I called my mother and informed her that I wanted the family over on Christmas Eve and to stay for Christmas Day. She was thrilled. I asked her if she could ask everyone else, which just goes to show how distant I am from my siblings. She said she would let everyone know of the plans. To my surprise, everyone said they would come over.
The first week of December, Em and I didn't have our dinners as often. We still got lunch, but it really felt like he was absent through the day. He went home the first weekend of Hanukkah, while I went to Jerry and Don's place with Michael and Emilio since they were Jewish and celebrating. It had been awhile since they hosted us, too. I figured maybe it would be good to see how other people host guests, to prepare for hosting my family.
"You've been so quiet," Michael said to me as we sat in Don and Jerry's place. They were in the kitchen getting the charcuterie board ready.
"I'm tired," I said. I had been on antidepressants for about a week. The side effects came with headaches and fatigue, but it would take a little longer to actually feel the good effects.
Michael rolled his eyes. "That's what you always say," he said.
I shrugged. "It's just this time of year," I said, knowing my lack of bickering surprised him. I was just too tired to bicker. I was so tired, that even when everyone was talking, I dozed off on the couch. I only woke up when the food was ready.
"I heard you are hosting your family," Don said. "Do you need us to join?"
"I am hosting them, and it's fine. I can survive one evening with them," I said.
"Why are you hosting them?" Michael asked.
"For the holidays," I said. "Figured I would try."
"That's sweet," Emilio said, elbowing Michael. "If it goes south, just kick everyone out and come over to our place. We'll take care of you."
"Thank you," I said. I wasn't appreciative of my friends enough. "I want it to work out."
"Well, maybe it will this year," Don said. "It's been a long time since all of you have gotten together and you're all adults."
"It's kind of pathetic actually," I said, pushing my food around. Another side effect of the antidepressants was that it upset my stomach sometimes. "We're all grown adults, some with children, but won't be celebrating with our own families we've built. We'll gather with my parents, none of their grandchildren present. Claude's wife has the kids this year. Lizzie is staying in Switzerland this year. It's pathetic."
"Your parents won't think it's pathetic," Emilio said softly. "I mean, your mom is probably going to cry knowing her. It's literally the best gift you can give her. It doesn't matter how old you get, you are still your parents' children. They're always going to want to treat you like you're still their little boy."
"I doubt they want me to be the depressed, suicidal little boy again," I said.
Michael grabbed my hand. "Lafayette," he said. "It's going to be okay, and it's not pathetic. Even if it is not pathetic, we're really proud that you are doing this for your family."
"I like to think you're doing it for yourself, too," Jerry said. "Mikey's right, we're proud and you should be proud, too."
I nodded, glancing at my friends. "Thank you," I said quietly. "I'll try not to be so pessimistic about it. Worst case scenario, we all fight and go back to being estranged. Best case scenario, we stay in touch."
"Either way, like we said, we're here for you, but I do hope you stay in touch," Michael said. "I am an only child and only have my mom, but anytime I get together with Emilio's family and his million siblings and cousins, it makes me wish I had siblings. You have three, and while I can't say I like them or the way they treat you, I hope you reconnect."
"I wish I had four still," I said, something I didn't mean to say out loud.
Don rubbed my back. "Grief is the price we pay for love," he said. He held up his glass of wine. "We have all lost someone near and dear to us. Let's toast to them."
I held up my glass of wine, as everyone else did. Michael lost his father to cancer. They had a difficult relationship, but the year leading up to his death was the best their relationship had ever been because his father had finally accepted who Michael was. Emilio came from a large family. His parents and his siblings were all alive, but he had unfortunately lost his grandmother and first nephew, both of whom he was very close with, in a tragic car accident. His sister, the mother of his nephew, became paralyzed from the accident, but survived.
Jerry and Don met and fell in love when they were in their late thirties. Jerry had a partner that he had been in love with for years, but unfortunately he had passed away during the height of the AIDS pandemic in the eighties. He didn't date for years, until he met Don. Don, on the other hand, had lived his life as a heterosexual man. He was married to his college girlfriend. He had a son with her, Timothy, but he tragically died at the age of six due to an accident.
We all had our own reasons to grieve, but there was a comfort in knowing I was not alone in my grief. I knew they each felt guilt in their own way as well, even though there was no reason for them to feel that way. They would say the same thing to me. I told my mother countless times that Delphine's death was not her fault, but she still always carried that grief and guilt with her, but quietly. None of us talked about Delphine anymore, but I didn't want her memory to die with her.
Grief was the price for love. My family and I loved Delphine. Life was hard for her, for all of us, but if anything she was the joy in our memories. She could smile through almost anything. I couldn't let the darkness that is her death overshadow the light and warmth she brought into the world. She was like the hazy glow from the Christmas lights on a snowy night. Warm, comforting, reminiscent of home. That's what I wanted to achieve by inviting my family. I wanted to rebuild our home. I couldn't do that without keeping the memory of Delphine alive.