Are you feeling lonely and abandoned this Christmas? You’re in good company! All over the world, culturally Christian spouses and families have been forsaken, and my kids and I are among said abandoned masses.
You see, I am married to an airline pilot. And while that all may seem glamourous and glorious, the sad reality is that with the exception of those very few with highly coveted top seniority numbers, most commercial pilots have to work over the holidays, leaving their families and friends alone at home, turkey dinner somewhat subdued with an empty seat at the table.
Don’t get me wrong: I love my wife and am grateful for everything she does for this family. Especially bringing home the bacon, because Lord knows, I spend it as fast as she makes it! And, as a result of her chosen career, my kids and I get to travel cheap all over the world (albeit on standby). Also, the cool factor (and yes, the uniform is hot).
You see, I am married to an airline pilot. And while that all may seem glamourous and glorious, the sad reality is that with the exception of those very few with highly coveted top seniority numbers, most commercial pilots have to work over the holidays, leaving their families and friends alone at home, turkey dinner somewhat subdued with an empty seat at the table.
Don’t get me wrong: I love my wife and am grateful for everything she does for this family. Especially bringing home the bacon, because Lord knows, I spend it as fast as she makes it! And, as a result of her chosen career, my kids and I get to travel cheap all over the world (albeit on standby). Also, the cool factor (and yes, the uniform is hot).
But holidays suck. Especially Christmas, because unlike other pilot wives who may have their own parents or siblings who can stand in for their missing spouses on this big family holiday, I’m an only child and have been an orphan since my second year of university. So there’s that.
As a queer family, we’ve woven a pretty tight “chosen family” over the past decade or two, and so in recent years, our Christmas Eve table has been filled with the presence of the retired math professor we look after (our surrogate father) and a close family friend who has been a stand in uncle of sorts for the boys. And then when the kids head off to their dad’s the next morning, I usually make my way to the airport and join my wife for her overnight to whichever exciting destination she’s traveling to for work that day.
As a queer family, we’ve woven a pretty tight “chosen family” over the past decade or two, and so in recent years, our Christmas Eve table has been filled with the presence of the retired math professor we look after (our surrogate father) and a close family friend who has been a stand in uncle of sorts for the boys. And then when the kids head off to their dad’s the next morning, I usually make my way to the airport and join my wife for her overnight to whichever exciting destination she’s traveling to for work that day.
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Alas, this year, I am truly abandoned!
Our old man is in Mexico (his lung issues necessitate him seeking warmer climates during the cold Canadian winter months) and our Uncle Vinx is in the hospital, recovering from a heart attack and subsequent brain injury. And my dear, sweet wife is flying to Timmins of all places tonight, where she will spend the full day tomorrow and a second night (an unheard of length for a layover at her regional airline… so why now? Why?!) before flying again on the 26th and eventually arriving back home late that afternoon!
Woe is me.
Our old man is in Mexico (his lung issues necessitate him seeking warmer climates during the cold Canadian winter months) and our Uncle Vinx is in the hospital, recovering from a heart attack and subsequent brain injury. And my dear, sweet wife is flying to Timmins of all places tonight, where she will spend the full day tomorrow and a second night (an unheard of length for a layover at her regional airline… so why now? Why?!) before flying again on the 26th and eventually arriving back home late that afternoon!
Woe is me.
Historically, being an orphan wasn’t sooo bad… My father died when I was a baby, so I have no history with him, and therefore, nothing to “miss” per say. And the first Christmas after my mother died (she died on Dec 22, so that kind of sucked), I was taken in by the family of my then-boyfriend, who were particularly well-equipped to do so.
The father of my university boyfriend was kind of a big deal at the Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies at U of T, and accordingly, Christmas itself was kind of a big deal, since it was both a personal AND a professional interest in that family. In fact, their house always had at least two Christmas trees, including one fully decorated with an assortment of small wooden creches the professor had picked up at some Christmas market during one of his many research trips to Europe.
The father of my university boyfriend was kind of a big deal at the Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies at U of T, and accordingly, Christmas itself was kind of a big deal, since it was both a personal AND a professional interest in that family. In fact, their house always had at least two Christmas trees, including one fully decorated with an assortment of small wooden creches the professor had picked up at some Christmas market during one of his many research trips to Europe.
The boyfriend also had several siblings, all older than him, and very nurturing when needed. On Christmas Eve following my mother’s death, I stumbled into their home, and a large stuffed bear was thrust into my arms by one of the sisters. This was followed by an enveloping of arms, and then I was ushered into the living room, past the first Christmas tree, and onto a chair at the dining room table in the adjoining room. I was fed, and encouraged to drink a glass of something.
I’m fifty now, not a child anymore. But the thirty-year-old memory still brings tears to my eyes. It was exactly what I needed during that tumultuous time.The ritual of the dinner, followed by the opening of gifts and our annual visit to midnight mass at the local high Anglican church, overstuffed with “CEOs” (Christmas and Easter only) brought some semblance of normalcy after what had been a very stilted and definitely NOT normal Christmas eve gathering in the living room at my mother’s (now my) house a few hours earlier with my poor Omi and my mother’s boyfriend, both of whom were still reeling at her untimely death!
I’m fifty now, not a child anymore. But the thirty-year-old memory still brings tears to my eyes. It was exactly what I needed during that tumultuous time.The ritual of the dinner, followed by the opening of gifts and our annual visit to midnight mass at the local high Anglican church, overstuffed with “CEOs” (Christmas and Easter only) brought some semblance of normalcy after what had been a very stilted and definitely NOT normal Christmas eve gathering in the living room at my mother’s (now my) house a few hours earlier with my poor Omi and my mother’s boyfriend, both of whom were still reeling at her untimely death!
After those years came the family of my children’s father. Somewhat boring, but very dependable, and always welcoming without question.
Even when I finally came crawling out of the closet several years later, they STILL insisted that there would always be a spot for me at their table. (My ex’s new girlfriend put a stop to that in short order, but still, it’s the thought that counts, and that thought still warms my heart.)
Even when I finally came crawling out of the closet several years later, they STILL insisted that there would always be a spot for me at their table. (My ex’s new girlfriend put a stop to that in short order, but still, it’s the thought that counts, and that thought still warms my heart.)
And now I am married to the pilot. Exciting and glamourous, but with a pretty much solid guarantee of never being home for the holidays.
Confession time, though: It’s not my wife’s airline that stole Christmas from me, it’s her culture!!!
Yep, that’s right. Even if my dear wife were NOT a commercial pilot, I would still have to name this blog post as I did, because as it turns out, my assumption that “everyone” in Canada just celebrates Christmas is… well… wrong.
Confession time, though: It’s not my wife’s airline that stole Christmas from me, it’s her culture!!!
Yep, that’s right. Even if my dear wife were NOT a commercial pilot, I would still have to name this blog post as I did, because as it turns out, my assumption that “everyone” in Canada just celebrates Christmas is… well… wrong.
For the first few years, before she was snapped up by the airlines, my Russian wife just went along with our holiday celebrations, with a minimal amount of grumbling. In part because she loved me, and in part because she just wasn’t sure how to approach the idea that the whole tree, angel and pile of gifts thing was overwhelming and uncomfortable for her in a way that wouldn't hurt me. It was just such a big part of my culture, and initially, she didn’t feel “entitled” to share her discomfort in any productive manner. (Newsflash, the minimal grumbling was already hurtful, lol!)
Since my wife is not a practicing Jew, Muslim or other non-Christian adherent, and since she’d been living in a country that commercially and culturally embraces the holiday season for well over a decade when I met her, it never even occurred to me that the traditions to which I had clung since losing my mother would be a problem for her.
But they were.
And that became a problem for me.
We eventually got past this hurdle, but not before the underlying implications of our unresolved disconnect nearly broke us up a dozen times or more.
Since my wife is not a practicing Jew, Muslim or other non-Christian adherent, and since she’d been living in a country that commercially and culturally embraces the holiday season for well over a decade when I met her, it never even occurred to me that the traditions to which I had clung since losing my mother would be a problem for her.
But they were.
And that became a problem for me.
We eventually got past this hurdle, but not before the underlying implications of our unresolved disconnect nearly broke us up a dozen times or more.
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Now, after many tears and open ears and adoptions of emotions that are foreign to each of us respectively, we have reached a truce of sorts about Christmas.
I buy my own advent calendar (Body Shop had a nice one this year!), there is no more St Nicolas Day, she and the boys take care of getting a real tree and hauling the box of Christmas stuff up from the storage locker in the basement, and I decorate the tree and try not to complain too much if it's crooked or somewhat sparce. (To her credit, she usually picks a nice one.)
We no longer do Christmas gifts. She commits to a brief “in transit” celebration where the boys and I visit her during a short break at the airport.
I buy my own advent calendar (Body Shop had a nice one this year!), there is no more St Nicolas Day, she and the boys take care of getting a real tree and hauling the box of Christmas stuff up from the storage locker in the basement, and I decorate the tree and try not to complain too much if it's crooked or somewhat sparce. (To her credit, she usually picks a nice one.)
We no longer do Christmas gifts. She commits to a brief “in transit” celebration where the boys and I visit her during a short break at the airport.
And she sends me selfies of herself on the road in festive professional attire and allows me to post them on social media so that everyone knows how cool I am being married to a pilot and all... even if I've been abandoned for the holidays!
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The trade-off is a love and support for one another deeper and more fulsome than I have ever experienced, even with my own mother and Omi when they were still alive. My wife knows me almost as well as I know myself in many areas… sometimes better than I know myself! She has learned to hold me accountable in ways that are loving, and is learning to hear me and accept with an increasingly open mind when I share concerns that run counter to her default. And we have developed our own Christmas traditions, like me getting getting decked out in festive gear and joining her wherever she happens to be flying on Christmas Day. (Well, unless it’s a dull day layover in Timmins, like this year. Ugh!)
We’ve also co-created some unique holidays that are far more numerous than Christmas, special days of private celebration that are regularly acknowledged between us with delightful little secrets and traditions unique to our family or to us as a couple.
We’ve also co-created some unique holidays that are far more numerous than Christmas, special days of private celebration that are regularly acknowledged between us with delightful little secrets and traditions unique to our family or to us as a couple.
Is Christmas still lonely for me, as an orphan who lost her everything just days before the western world's most high-pressure family event?
I would say it’s more a time of inner reflection. And in those moments, after the kids leave for their dad’s on the morning of the 25th after their stockings have been emptied (Santa insisted on filling the boys’ stockings, even after my wife canceled the rest of our Christmas traditions, haha), when I am alone in the apartment with no one to share a tea with while sitting around the Christmas tree with all its twinkly lights, I do feel a little bit sorry for myself, yes. But also, I feel grateful.
A reduced Christmas in an overly consumerist world is a small price to pay for the many strange and wonderful blessings my strange and wonderful wife bestows on me and on our family throughout the year. Christmas, as I am continuing to learn, is more a frame of mind than a particular day or time of year. And giving up the obsession of the season for the woman I love, and instead adopting a more long-term mindset of grace, generosity and love is a greater gift than any!
I would say it’s more a time of inner reflection. And in those moments, after the kids leave for their dad’s on the morning of the 25th after their stockings have been emptied (Santa insisted on filling the boys’ stockings, even after my wife canceled the rest of our Christmas traditions, haha), when I am alone in the apartment with no one to share a tea with while sitting around the Christmas tree with all its twinkly lights, I do feel a little bit sorry for myself, yes. But also, I feel grateful.
A reduced Christmas in an overly consumerist world is a small price to pay for the many strange and wonderful blessings my strange and wonderful wife bestows on me and on our family throughout the year. Christmas, as I am continuing to learn, is more a frame of mind than a particular day or time of year. And giving up the obsession of the season for the woman I love, and instead adopting a more long-term mindset of grace, generosity and love is a greater gift than any!
The author and her teenage sons visiting a close family friend in hospital Dec 24, 2023.
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