A year ago today was the last real time I’d gather with some of my family. My mother, Cathy, and step-father Ray.
Christmas Eve dinner was something I had taken over in previous years and it was a time to enjoy a bit of the old and bring some real meat to the table so to speak. To catch up. To ponder the season. To goad on the future. To enjoy a pocket of something familial.
These two would spoil my son with more gifts than necessary. They also knew we could never do a lot so maybe they were compensating. Most years we just liked to share labors of love. We’re really pretty easy that way.
Not knowing that the road was going to be slippery coming up I hope I was kind enough. This year has been such a rollercoaster it blurs things. I have a lot of things I hoped for them, for us, but we’re a squishy troublesome bunch.
After a year we are near the end of remodeling their home and with each bit of effort, thought, and consideration put in we hope they would have like what we crafted from their own efforts.
Tonight I sat on a stool and had a cup of boiled custard. One of my mom’s all-time favorite holiday drinks. I gave a toast and thanks in their honor. I miss them very much.