For a decade now, my wife and I have celebrated a tradition that my family created when I was five. Being a German family we celebrated the Christmas season with baking; the main one being the creation of Gingerbread House Masterpieces.
It started with my mother, father, brother, and sister growing up. The year after my father passed away, my wife and I started our own tradition. Inviting friends from all walks of our lives to join us in an afternoon and evening of celebrating a simple tradition that meant so much more to me than anyone could possibly see.
A tie to my past life where I had a mother and a father. A past where I had an extended family that was there and involved in my life. Then it came to me this past weekend, while having friends sit around the table decorating their Gingerbread houses for the tenth year; this is my family.
My family are my friends. Their children are my nephews and nieces. It's a bizarre tale of one's own life but it's mine. I've created a family from a tradition that my own blood family had. And this year my own sons joined in the tradition with another family.
Each family tradition marks who we are, where we came from, and most importantly what holds us together. From stuffing shoes full of candy and fruit for St. Nicks day, to creating gingerbread ornaments, to having beef stroganoff for dinner on Christmas Eve prior to midnight mass. It's these "little" things that give us our past in order to survive our future.
It may be a sad and depressing time for those of us who've lost those dear to us, and while our souls feel empty we gather what happiness we might have left in our lives to get through this month. This weekend gave me something, moments to move to the next moment and then the next. I'm slowly understanding what can fill my soul that's missing a past.
To everyone that joined my wife and I, and our sons this weekend. Thank you.
