Us In The Van

It happened because we decided we could all fit in the van.

When it comes to having adult children with partners and families of their own, being together at Christmas has been something we've tried to give realistic balance to. Naturally, especially with grandchildren, gathering is extremely important. It makes us "us" in a way that only being at a table together can do. But being anywhere merely to fulfill an obligation is never more than that, and defeats any noble purpose of family.

To honour that, it has become our gentle policy to ask for and hope for at least one gathering during the Christmas season, with no fixed date or expectations. Anything more than that, I consider bonus.

So when Ken and I, and the two we bore, and ones they chose (minus the one in waiting) and the three they bore, can all fit into one vehicle, car seats included....and when that occasion is the SECOND all together gathering of "us" in this one Christmas season....it's all gravy (turkey pun intended).

And it happened on the way home.

We had spent the afternoon at the home of Ken's generous sister and her husband, with those of us who make up Ken's siblings and who live close enough to make being at that table possible. Shrimp for starters and gifts and kids and phone calls from those who live too far and silly paper hats following loud snaps and way too much food and a dog parked closest to the youngest and messiest of us. And then, when it's all done, we fit ourselves back in the van for the drive home.

And that's when I realized. We weren't all there. Not all of us who should be. But all of us who could be were. And as we wait for the one in waiting, it was enough for me in that moment. For the two of us who chose each other, and the ones we bore and the ones they chose, and the one they bore...us and our kids and their partners and their kids. The "us" of us.

And how many times had we make that drive, too full from turkey, quiet now after all the noise? First just Ken and I, then one at a time our own babies in car seats, and then bigger children, and now new car seats. Thirty two years of driving home from Christmas with Ken's family.

It happened in that moment that I felt contentment and blessing and rightness. And it registered with me as something important because I know I shouldn't be feeling it. Too much is not as it should be this Christmas to make it feel less "us". First time without Dad. Mom moved away. A son-in-law yet to rejoin us.

But there was still an "us" gently, strongly. In the van. And it was very good.

And I wanted to sing.

Kristyn and David have both told me that one of their favourite childhood memories is rides home from family things and me singing.

I should have sang. Next time.