Joanne, we’re spending Christmas with my familythis year. You don’t need to come.” My daughter-in-law’s words stopped me in the produce aisle atKroger, where I stood holding two packages of freshthymeand trying to decide which looked less wilted.Four days before Christmas, I had called my sonAdam toask whether I should bring red or whitewine to the dinner he’d invited me to weeks earlier,but Reneehad answered his phone instead.
Sheexplained that her mother would be cooking andthat the gatheringwas now reserved for her sideof the family, although the dinner was still takingplace at Adam’s house.Behind me, another shopperasked whether I was finished looking at the herbs,and I moved my cartaside because I couldn’t thinkof anything else to do. I managed to wish Reneea merry Christmas beforehanging up, then stoodstaring at a display of bananas while my hands slowlystopped trembling. Atsixty-two, after thirty-six yearsof marriage and two years of widowhood, I had beenlooking forward tospending the holiday with my sonand grandchildren. Instead, before that weekend wasover, I wouldmake a $31,000 decision that sent Adampounding on my front door—and neither of us yetunderstoodhow profoundly it would change our family.
My name is Joanne Kessler, and I live in Hamilton,Ohio, in the house my husband, Walter, and Ifinishedpaying off in 2015. Walter had been a mail carrierfor thirty-four years, walking much the sameroutethrough the north end of town until he retired, and I’dspent twenty-eight years working in thefront officeof the local school district. We weren’t extravagantpeople, but we had enough to raiseAdam, maintainour home, and enjoy the small pleasures that madean ordinary life feel rich. Christmashad alwaysbeen particularly important to Walter. Every year,he wore a ridiculous red Santa hat fromWalgreensand distributed presents in the booming voice of ahockey announcer, giving everyone animaginaryplayer number and position. Our grandchildren, ten-year-old Lily and seven-year-old Noah,adored theperformance. After Walter died, Lily took over therole, though the hat slipped over her eyesand shecouldn’t reach some of the presents beneath thetree. This was my third Christmas without him,andI had been counting on the familiar routine to makethe empty place at the table a little easier to bear.
At Thanksgiving, Adam had invited me to arrivearound noon on December 25. I wrote the planon thecalendar beside my refrigerator and beganpreparing as I always did. My shopping cart heldwhole-berrycranberry sauce because Adam haddisliked the smooth jellied variety since childhood,clementines for Lily,yellow mustard for Noah,and the ingredients for my mother’s pecan pie.After Renee’s call, I paid for thegroceries anyway,$87.40, and carried them out to my Buick beneatha gray December sky. I texted Adamto say theplans had changed and asked him to call whenhe had a moment. I didn’t tell him how hurt I was.
