Because We Were Together
Dealing with death
Ben and I stopped celebrating Thanksgiving and Christmas after our grandchildren moved away. Before that, and since we didn’t care much for traditional holiday foods, Ben would prepare one of his big Argentine asados (cookout), and we’d invite a dozen or more people. Our house would bustle with bodies and conversations and full bellies.
Shortly after the grandkids were gone, the pandemic hit. It was just the two of us, and since I’m a vegetarian, the asado wasn’t practical. Also, we didn’t exchange gifts, so a Christmas tree seemed like a great deal of work for nothing. I gave the tree and decorations to our housekeeper.
By default, we did nothing special. I usually worked for half a day on Thanksgiving and Christmas. In the evening, we’d eat whatever we normally ate. No special foods. No special traditions.
Except Ben always said this:
We don’t need anything special. Every day is special because we’re together.
And he was right.
Without him, I have no special days. Thanksgiving and Christmas are empty holes, just like every other day. My two closest friends also don’t celebrate the holidays, but they have each other.
I will work both days to keep my mind occupied. Working on the holidays will be easy, but coming home to an empty house will be damn hard.
It was true that every day was special because we were together.
It’s equally true that no day is special because I don’t have Ben.
© Dennett 2024
