Christmas

I had played this scene in my head following last year's Christmas when Bowie was with his parents and he would go on walks to sing me a Christmas carol or two. There was one detail missing from the scene I had in my head, I was now watching Bowie decorate his new tree in what was supposed to be our home. I watched as I forced a smile across my face when he turned around and asked, “What do you think?”

“I love it. It’s beautiful. It’s exactly what I would have done,” and that was the reality. With Bowie and I it seemed to hurt even more, the red balls, the white, the red and white striped candy cane looking ones were exactly what I would have chosen. And yet I sat there curled up on his couch watching him. He was like a kid excitedly putting up the first tree that was truly his. 

This was supposed to be our first Christmas together. Our first new years. Even if we spent it with our own kids, this was to be ours. We had talked about it earlier that year. 

My favorite time of the year and life was crumbling in front of me. I didn’t have my own Christmas tree. I didn’t get to decorate mine like usual. How was I losing out on everything I had worked so hard to get towards, no, we had worked so hard to get to? Over and over I thought we would never get here. He would plead with me to stay and now, here we were, he was walking away from us and I was left out. I was suddenly on the outside of this new life watching him create his own. He had just spent four months making sure to always say, “Our house” or “What do you think of this for our bathroom?” And now it was “his tree” and “his house”. And my bathroom stuff had all been removed and packed up for me.

“Are we going to celebrate Christmas tomorrow?” he asked. 

“Yeh, of course. I have my gifts ready,” I sipped my coffee, swallowing my emotions down hard. 

“I just have to wrap a couple things.” He began tidying the place up.

“It’s weird,” I heard myself say aloud. “I always thought we would be together on New Years like we promised last year.” I remembered sitting on the couch in the apartment they had given us back in Canada because a tree destroyed a third of our house after a storm and was texting Bowie. I had just finished watching, When Harry Met Sally and he was about to toast his new years. He had texted he wished he was there kissing me. I said, one day. Then we both said next year.

“Yeh,” he half responded. I knew it was hard on him in some ways, but he couldn’t face this reality, much less ours. “I know.” 

It was only a day ago he grabbed my hand and said with tears, “I just… I just love you. I love you,” and he sat next to me. I was having an emotional whiplash. I don’t think I knew which way was up or down and honestly, I don’t think he did either. I could feel the grief underneath both of us trying to normalize whatever this was. I was leaving in just a couple of days and had no idea when I would return. I suddenly felt incredibly stupid for getting him AC/DC tickets for summer for his Christmas gift. I knew he had always wanted to see them in concert, one of many and I wanted him to have more experiences.