You sometimes don’t realize how much the quiet people are part of our holiday traditions and histories until they’re not there. Dad was one such person, choosing mostly to stay to himself in the family room, watching his OTB and perusing his papers while the rest of us went about our holiday antics. He’d join us for dinner, and gift opening, but even there he was often quiet, blending into the background and going through the motions. At the time, I didn’t understand it, and wanted him to be more present; now I see things very clearly his way, and very much relate to wanting to be a quiet but not wholly participatory in the mayhem. All that noise, noise, noise… the Grinch wasn’t wrong about everything.
As I got older, and especially in the last few years he was cognizant and aware of what was going on, I would tend to spend more time next to him. Not actively talking or taking part in his betting operation, but just to be out of the line of sensory overload. He had a calming aura to him, despite his occasional outbursts, and I sensed a kindred spirit there that I never quite appreciated when I was a kid. I miss that.
The other morning a pair of cardinals insistently made themselves known in the seven son’s flower tree. As I sat working at the dining room table, they fluttered and flew – bright bits of scarlet in the sky and in the branches. I wondered what they wanted me to understand, what message they brought from their world to mine.
I still don’t know.
