A Skype Chat

I had a morning after-Christmas, online chat with my father and my siblings and their respective families. It was all very pleasant. They just had their wonderful Christmas dinner, were trading banter, and preparing for the major part of the gathering, the opening of gifts. My two nephews and niece did what little children are supposed to do: Provide a backdrop of gleeful chaos and the purest, most innocent laughter. I was once a part of this annual event, some seven Christmases ago when I spent my holidays with them. It was a Christmas like all other joyous family occasions; happiness and laughter overflowed, everyone was there (save for my wife and children who were back home), and thoughts of mortality were farthest from our minds.

Our Mom passed away a month ago, and when the idea of a chat was born, and while we were on it, I was asking myself why we didn't do it before when she was still with us. Perhaps we took things for granted, like we do when we feel that things are in their proper places, with nothing amiss. And when everyone was there and alive and kicking, things indeed were in their proper places.

Mothers and fathers complete families, and when one of them is gone, those left behind reach out to fill the void. We reached out today to fill the space Mom left behind, to complete the circle once more. All good, I should say. Oh, Mom always completed the circle so wonderfully! We always felt secure and complete. She was among life's reliable constants. A bit enigmatic at times, but she was always there. I miss her terribly.

Christmases Past

My Christmas this year is mostly reminiscences of Christmases when I was a child, and up to the time I became a young adult. In those days, the family was complete; everyone was there; our cares were few, life was simpler, the future beckoned, but it could wait.

I often tell my own children that a family's most wonderful times are those when the children are growing up, the family kept together by the strong bond of love. These moments should be savored, and then committed to memory; so that when life or death impose themselves upon those we love, we can summon them and enjoy once more the splendor and happiness they brought us.

I'm grateful that as a child I was made to believe in the supposed existence of Santa Claus. Others may argue that the practice is deceptive, but I think it teaches about anonymous generosity. Most people don't want to remain anonymous when they give. They want to advertise their magnanimity. How else can you explain publicity photos of city and town bureaucrats pointing to donated trash bins, or to roads they have interceded for to get repaired or constructed, or those that show them running to the rescue of the victims of natural and mostly man-made tragedies that visit this archipelago? Our inclination is to be generous and popular.

My Santa Clauses (Yes, I had two!) were two selfless people. More than all the toys I received, their greatest gift was the life lesson that genuine giving does not seek anything in return. I shall always be indebted and grateful to them for the gift that lasts lifetimes.