Some of my widow friends have advised me to keep family traditions just as they’ve always been in this first year after Nate’s death. Others have said it will be too difficult to stick with the old because Nate will be missing, so new traditions are the way to go. As we approach another “first”, actually a series of firsts, (Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day), none of us is sure what to do.
Today we decided to continue a time-honored family tradition, eating dinner under the Marshall Fields/Macy’s Christmas tree. Downtown Chicago is always dressed to the nines for the holidays, and Fields in particular goes over the top. Just stepping in off the street causes people to start clicking cameras at the massive glittering displays overhead and in every aisle.
Each year since Nelson was 11 months, Nate and I have taken the kids to the Walnut Room for dinner, late in December. We used to dress them in their festive best and wait up to two hours to get a table. But we were together, and anticipation was half the fun. Nate would walk over from his office three blocks away to get in line as the rest of us were making our way to the Loop from the suburbs on a train. When the kids were little, the train trip was a highlight, despite frigid wait-times on the “L” platform. Zooming into the subway section of the ride was as good as being at Disneyland.
When we arrived at the store, we’d find Nate in line with hundreds of other traditionalists. He’d say, “I’ll hold the coats if you want to run around the store.” His arms filled with hefty winter wear, mounded nearly to his eyes, and he’d holler after us, “Check back every fifteen minutes!” These days Fields/Macy’s hands out pagers, and we have the convenience of cell phones, so no one has to wait in line. The down side is everyone has to hold their own coat.
There were just six of us this year. Our Florida family is readying for the birth of their baby boy. Our British family is saving their dollars anticipating spring-time twins. But the other five kids and I decided we’d pursue the same plan as always, dinner in the Walnut Room.
I didn’t anticipate it would be so difficult. As Nelson and I drove in from Michigan, we talked about how this was Nate’s kind of event, his family gathered around him and good food served in a fancy restaurant with excellent service. He always tipped the waitresses extra, knowing they had families to buy gifts for, wanting to brighten their lives. Sometimes he tipped them 40%. I used to glance at what he handed them and say, “Really? Is that much necessary?” Of course it wasn’t, but on this annual occasion, he always did it.
Tonight as we studied the familiar menus, I looked at the end of the table where Nate always sat and couldn’t hold back the tears. It seemed so wrong that he wasn’t there championing the dinner as he always had. I muttered through my tears, “Papa would have had the lobster bisque and chicken pot pie.” Heads nodded around the table.
“And a sugar cookie,” Lars said, “about an inch thick, mostly frosting.”
We got through it, but it was a major effort. I cried most of the way back to Michigan, longing so badly to connect with Nate on this particular day. Grieving is a slow process, I guess, and falling tears are part of moving forward. It’s encouraging to know, from friends who’ve already done this, that grieving does eventually end. I can’t imagine what that will feel like, but as always, I choose to believe the ones who know what they’re talking about.
“Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think.” (Ephesians 3:20)
