"Scrooged" landed hard yesterday. I'd seen it before, and enjoyed it mostly, but the darkness woven into the black humor really struck a chord for me this year.
My cinematic narration for Christmas Day was "A Christmas Story," followed by "Scrooged," and then "Die Hard" (and when John & Al met at the end I was in tears, so it wasn't just "Scrooged" tugging at my emotions). Then having bailed out the tubs under the leaking kitchen sink, I ran to Bloomington where Brian kept a Gill family tradition going with Ron's lasagna, Deb made some of Grandma Gill's shoofly pie, Mike & most his family too along with some of Jennifer's family, so a hearty happy table -- and we had an aftermeal lovely tribute to Buck, by way of a gift exchange which you had to be there to appreciate.
Back to the house to bail again, and then I fell into watching Tony Bourdain in Hanoi, ultimately hosting President Obama in a little restaurant with a conversation that I suspect will last in both their biographies for years to come. Closed out my Christmas with last year's new and now classic "A Christmas Story Christmas" which of course centers on . . . the death of The Old Man.
When you're in the right (or wrong) frame of mind, you are quite aware of just how much death there is in Christmas observances, traditional or contemporary. "Scrooged" famously if ironically so, "Die Hard" is a violent action movie with themes of apartness and separation woven into the holiday lights and seasonal music in the background constantly (and "Welcome to the party, pal" is useful in so many contexts, Christmas included). The looming threat of Herod behind the Magi, the oppressive force of Rome driving the populations of Judea and Galilee to be counted not where they wanted to be, but where they had to go, the ghost of Bethlehem past in Rachel, weeping for her children -- they all fit comfortably with the mordant reflections of a doomed Bourdain talking about war and reconciliation and spicy Bún chả, let alone Frank Cross trying to understand Claire's commitment to the homeless, or an adult Ralphie seeking an ideal nostalgic Christmas in the shadow of his recent loss and ultimately just ending up [spoiler alert] getting arrested by Officer Farkas.
Christmas itself is plenty dark, while half spent was the night, in the bleak midwinter, and ominously how still we see thee lie. It's not a violation of the norms, it's the hidden norm in the middle of the observance itself. It always was there, and will always haunt us, in three or even more ghosts per customer.
Meanwhile, I still have some house tending to do, and back home my son helped out a co-worker covering a shift on the big day itself, another example of how life doesn't always follow the expected storyline, except when you realize the unexpected opportunity to help out is possibly the real script itself. My wife today gets to start notifying not family or friends, but the official heralds of death and probate, accounts and institutions whose condolences will doubtless be much more muted that the sympathies we've received these last eight days. Christmas occurs, and then the world moves on.
And my mother? She knows who I am, still, which my siblings can't all say anymore, but yesterday she had to call out for "the guy in the bright red plaid shirt" a couple of times. The loss of memory and her connections to reality are loosening fast. There's occasional humor in it, but all dark humor, dark enough that even Bill Murray might say "whoa, too much." We siblings and spouses, Brian and Lisa in particular, are doing what we can to help Deb as we all watch this next phase coming at us. It's all very much where I was four months ago with Buck, but that's not a prediction, just an observation. She's six years younger than him, but the cognitive decline seems to be advancing faster.
Meanwhile, the plumber just called to confirm their arrival shortly, and I have a few Christmas movies to watch yet. "Home Alone" is on my list, and Old Man Marley is likely to be the center of the story I'll be thinking about. Loss, and recovery, and occasionally restoration. But the loss is still a reality in the story as we remember it, and has to be given its due even as we move past it.