written Nov 2000

The Last Word on ...................…the Holidays

I gave a lot of thought to this month’s Last Word. I figured there is an added weight as it is the final Last Word of the year. But what to talk about? The holidays are the obvious choice I suppose. You know, pepper you with funny little stories about my family during the holidays. Cute exchanges between my parents and the gifts and traditions we would engage in. But I don’t know that I want to do that. I don’t even know that I can.

You see no great Christmas stories leap to mind. Sure I’d like to tell you about some special gift my mother gave me, but none stand out. I remember the other 364 days of the year. How mom would get her two boys up for school every day and make them a breakfast, usually of scrambled eggs. Eggs that my brother and I would eat off of the same plate. I can see that plate now, oblong, with pinkish-maroon flowers trimmed along the edges. A plain piece of bread topped with bacon sat in the middle of the plate to separate the portions. (She served the bacon like that so that the oil would soak into the slice of bread, which she would eventually give to the family dog). I remember how loud mom would play our electric player piano as we ate and she prepared herself for work, singing along to songs like "Spanish Eyes" or "The Girl from Ipanema." I remember how we would we would start the day off smiling, laughing and just genuinely being happy. Then she would send us off to school, wash the plate and put it back above the sink until the next day when she would do it all over again. But that was everyday. On Christmas morning I honestly can’t remember anything…but I remember those breakfasts and I ache to see my mother smiling as she prepares that plate one more time.

I want to tell you how my father gave me a shiny new bike on Christmas, or an electric train set… but he didn’t. I can’t remember anything he gave me or my brother, on Christmas that is. I do remember how he would work on the farm for 10-12 hours and come home and play wiffle-ball with us. How he’d give me 6 strikes and my brother only two because he was so much better. I remember how dad would play cards with the family other nights, teaching me and my brother how to play blackjack and poker. I remember how much fun we would have. I remember how hard we would laugh when dad would try to teach mom how to play a new game. But that wasn’t on Christmas night. I honestly don’t remember what we did Christmas night; but I’m sure we spent it like every other night, laughing.

I’d like to tell you what I did the last Christmas that each of my parents were alive. But I honestly can’t remember. Cancer has a way of distracting you from the important things in life. I can’t tell you anything about my Christmases, but I can tell you about the times shared with my family and I will continue to do that every month. But not this month. I need to give you more than that this month, you deserve that.

So I will tell you the greatest gift you can give anyone is laughter, but I doubt you would come to these pages if you didn’t already know that. I will tell you that this is what my parents still give me everyday, but you must already know that as well. And I will thank you for letting me into your lives, even if only once a month, to share this gift with all of you.

But not this month simply because I want to share something even more special, something I seldom share with anyone-- my pain. And I want you to see the gift, yes the gift that this pain is. That this pain is so special to me because my parents were so special to me, that if they hadn’t affected me so greatly when they were alive, they would not affect me so greatly now that they’ve passed. And then you will realize how special a gift I share with you this holiday season. And should these words bring you to the brink of a tear, or the bittersweet ache in the pit of your belly which only exists thanks to a longing for something truly beautiful that it once knew, only then can you grasp the gift of the words I tell you now…

no one cries who does not know laughter.

The plate was the last item my I took from the house. I gave it to my brother.

Love to all of you on the holidays,
.....-eugene

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