‘Twas the Day after Christmas

I seem to have survived Christmas in Alabama.

My niece gave me a “World’s Best Guncle” coffee mug—quietly, in private, so no one else saw. She didn’t say anything when she handed it to me, but I had the sense that my sister knew exactly what it was. My sister and brother-in-law fully include her partner in everything, so maybe my family is, slowly, getting better. Then again, who knows—since no one actually talks about it.

It was a somber Christmas in other ways. My great-uncle died early Christmas morning. He was 95, the last of my grandmama’s siblings—the last of that generation. I feel deeply for that branch of my family. His first wife, whom I never knew because she died before I was born, passed away two days before Christmas. His second wife died just a week after Christmas. Losing that generation makes the holidays feel different. They were the ones who held everyone together, the glue that kept us gathering year after year. Now, I rarely see those branches of the family anymore. In some ways, I wish I were staying a few extra days, just to be present with everyone who remains.

Mama’s health is also weighing heavily on me. Her dementia continues to worsen. She’s grown more frail, shuffles when she walks, has tremors, and becomes confused easily. There are still good moments—but when I woke her on Christmas Eve, she looked frightened and didn’t recognize me at first. That moment broke my heart in a way I’m not sure I can fully put into words.

I fly out today around 11 a.m. I won’t get into Burlington until close to midnight, which means—after waiting on baggage—I’ll be lucky to be home by 2 a.m. Two long layovers this year. I always try to keep it to one, but it never quite works out. There are no direct flights from Burlington to Montgomery, so travel days are always long days. Maybe one day I’ll marry a very wealthy man who can fly me straight to Montgomery on a private jet—but until then, this is just part of the deal.

What I’m most looking forward to is getting home to Isabella. I know she’s missed me. She’s been moping around the apartment while I’ve been gone, sleeping mostly in my spot on the bed instead of her usual place at the foot. She’s always incredibly chatty when I first get home, so I’m hoping she doesn’t wake the entire apartment complex loudly complaining about my disappearance while simultaneously being ecstatic that I’ve returned. Knowing her, it will be a bit of both.

For now, I’m grateful to have made it through the holidays, grateful for small signs of love and acceptance, and grateful that—after a very long day of travel—I’ll finally be home. Sometimes, that’s more than enough.