December 31: New Year's Eve with Thea Koula
Every year until I was a teenager, my parents went to the New Year's Eve dance at our church, and my sister and I stayed home with Thea Koula. She is my mom's eldest sister, and the only one still alive at 93.
What I didn't know then is that she'd been in a terribly abusive marriage. She had left that man even though everybody told her she shouldn't, that Greek girls didn't get divorced. What I didn't know is how hard it had been for her to raise her daughters on her own. I didn't know she stayed away from church functions because even so many years later she didn't want people talking about her, didn't really enjoy crowds or craziness, partly due to her personality but partly, I'm sure, due to her trauma as well. I learned all of this in college, when I interviewed her for a series of poems I wrote.
What I knew was that Thea Koula took her time, looked me in the eye when I spoke, got on the floor to play with me, took a genuine interest in whatever I was doing. So New Year's Eve was one of my favorite holidays as a kid, because it was just me, my sister Jo, and Thea Koula. I loved the craziness of our family get togethers, but at heart I am an introvert, and would prefer a small gathering than a giant party.
And that's what we did on New Year's Eve. We spent time playing together with our Christmas gifts, ate a simple meal, spent a raucous five minutes watching the ball drop and blowing into horns and throwing confetti, then went to bed.
I am trying to be present with people this holiday season, even though my spouse has been working a lot and the house is crazily merry and crowded and everybody is dealing with individual dramas. But I've reveled in small joys--taking our guests to the diner in town that we love, going for an impromptu pedicure with my daughter when everyone else was, miraculously, doing something else, having coffee with the adoptive father of my daughter's brother during one of their last days here.
I am trying to give the gift my Thea Koula has always given to me--the gift of quiet presence, real interest and connection--as best I can, even when doing so is especially hard.
I can be more present if I've been present with myself. So I am writing this at 6:20 a.m., and no one is up yet. I have lit the Advent candles, the candles on our mantel, turned on the tree lights, and I am just breathing, listening with one ear for the little guy who will wake soon, but mostly just being present with myself.
What I didn't know then is that she'd been in a terribly abusive marriage. She had left that man even though everybody told her she shouldn't, that Greek girls didn't get divorced. What I didn't know is how hard it had been for her to raise her daughters on her own. I didn't know she stayed away from church functions because even so many years later she didn't want people talking about her, didn't really enjoy crowds or craziness, partly due to her personality but partly, I'm sure, due to her trauma as well. I learned all of this in college, when I interviewed her for a series of poems I wrote.
What I knew was that Thea Koula took her time, looked me in the eye when I spoke, got on the floor to play with me, took a genuine interest in whatever I was doing. So New Year's Eve was one of my favorite holidays as a kid, because it was just me, my sister Jo, and Thea Koula. I loved the craziness of our family get togethers, but at heart I am an introvert, and would prefer a small gathering than a giant party.
And that's what we did on New Year's Eve. We spent time playing together with our Christmas gifts, ate a simple meal, spent a raucous five minutes watching the ball drop and blowing into horns and throwing confetti, then went to bed.
I am trying to be present with people this holiday season, even though my spouse has been working a lot and the house is crazily merry and crowded and everybody is dealing with individual dramas. But I've reveled in small joys--taking our guests to the diner in town that we love, going for an impromptu pedicure with my daughter when everyone else was, miraculously, doing something else, having coffee with the adoptive father of my daughter's brother during one of their last days here.
I am trying to give the gift my Thea Koula has always given to me--the gift of quiet presence, real interest and connection--as best I can, even when doing so is especially hard.
I can be more present if I've been present with myself. So I am writing this at 6:20 a.m., and no one is up yet. I have lit the Advent candles, the candles on our mantel, turned on the tree lights, and I am just breathing, listening with one ear for the little guy who will wake soon, but mostly just being present with myself.
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