creative writing

Holiday Journey

Rachel
Feb 1, 2023
4 min read

Updated: May 25, 2023

I never knew a holiday could break.

For years things went by predictably: dinner at one, three rounds of tug-of-war over the TV, and silent prayers that this wouldn’t be the year someone snapped, again. It may have been strange and stressful, but that was home.

As it was happening I had no idea the memory I was gently holding onto as my new favorite was actually the last stop before I got lost and fell to the worst rock bottom of my life, so far. In a rare change of events, I had plans one holiday weekend that took me several hours away from my usual spot on the couch. Understandably, I was psyched to catch up with my friends I hadn’t seen in ages.

My mature, twenty-something year old self was practically bouncing out of my grandparents’ house, wanting it to be the next day already. On the way out, my grandpa decided to make my treat bag that year. Like any sane person, I prioritized crescent rolls over nearly all other holiday foods so it became an unofficial tradition that I was given a part of what was left in the bread basket at the end of the night.

Most years my grandma would piece it together. And she wasn’t exactly secretive that it was because she needed to make sure she kept exactly the treats she wanted. That year her voice carried across the living room and through the wall into the kitchen while my grandpa hurried to throw the bag together. It didn’t matter that she could barely even see what was even happening. I know she was ready to go to war over that platter of brownies.

Unfazed, my grandpa brushed off her raised voice and shrugged how nobody wanted her chocolate. He handed me a stuffed, zipped bag with strict orders to take it on the drive that next day. We both knew depending on traffic that the long drive could be even longer and I’d need these supplies.

And I did. The glass nearly splintered the second I screeched with joy when I discovered the brownies he carefully hid among all the flaky, bread goodness.

There were many things he left unsaid, and oftentimes he purposely kept his hearing aid turned off just so he could have peace in his own home, but the true extent of his feelings could always be found in actions. Like this one.

Or the time he equipped me like an assassin with the amount of knives he bought for my college apartment.

Or how he gave me a real metal hammer, but a perfect size for my five year old hand.

Or how we’d pass books back and forth for the majority of my life as a book club of two.

That final book ended up being one of my favorite childhood stories. It brought me joy when I was small and afraid of the dark. I hoped the magic would bring him comfort while he was in the hospital. His bookmark took up residence three chapters in. I read around it last time.

If he was there that next Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or Easter…I honestly can’t remember anymore. The brain is an unusual thing. When it’s hurt, it eats away so much more than anyone ever warns you about.

It wasn’t long before the holidays stopped altogether.

My grandma decided she was done cooking, but she also didn’t want anyone else to do it. The phone began to ring less. The car kept falling apart. And the cracks grew until the whole thing shattered.

Holding onto the pieces, it’s difficult not to let my mind return to that last time everything felt okay. It almost feels like I’m tethered to that old memory, watching the world roll by the car window. A sense of home pulling me down the road. I keep thinking to myself that maybe one day I will reach my destination, and there will be something worth celebrating.

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Author's Notes:

I'll be honest...I still don't know what to make of this one.

My nephew is turning five soon, so that means this mother's day marks the Five Year anniversary of my grandpa's passing. I've been struggling to put my feelings into words since then. I can't explain why. No one has ever asked me to do this, but each winter I find myself here: a jumble of thoughts, a bitter taste in my mouth, an anger and feeling of loss I don't understand how to navigate.

I was mid way through my Thanksgiving, which consisted of a bag of potato chips and watching A Christmas Story on loop, when I began throwing thoughts down in a note app on my phone. Over the next several weeks I picked, and poked until I couldn't look at this string of words anymore.

I wanted to share this before Christmas, and then before New Year. I'll take 2am on February 1st. This is a part of my journey, and maybe next winter I'll find a bit more peace revisiting this stop.

Winter Roundup 2023

Holiday Journey

Summer Roundup 2022 part 2