Home for the holidays, sort of
I was going to go back to Anytown for the holidays this year. Had it all planned out; was going to load up the kids in the minivan and head back up for that annual chaotic scene. We haven't done Christmas in Anytown since 1994, the year the Old Daughter was born. The Boy and the Young Daughter have never experienced Christmas with the extended family.

Then, a couple of months ago, we moved back to Florida from Texas. A seven-hour drive just turned into $1,800 worth of plane tickets. We won't be going to Anytown for Christmas this year, and yeah, I feel a little bit guilty about it.

A very good chance exists that 2002 will mark my grandparents' last Christmas. My grandfather is 85, and he had a massive heart attack in early October, right before we made the decision to move. My grandmother is 81 and in rapid decline.

Occasionally, I make selfish decisions. I always think the decisions are right, and honestly, I have few regrets. And, no, to be honest, I wouldn't sacrifice a long-term benefit to mitigate some short-term guilt. If I was to be brutally honest, I'd point out that my grandmother would not recognize my children at all and would struggle to recognize me. Which is not to say she wouldn't love them; she loves all children, and she loves all of the members of her family.

It is a selfish thing for me, in some ways. It's difficult for me to acknowledge my grandparents' failing health. I prefer to remember my grandfather as a strong, hard-working man with an opinion about everything and a willingness to take whatever time was necessary to share it. He wasn't always right, but he believed every word he said, and he'd work as hard as he needed to work to convince you. I prefer to remember my grandmother as the rock of the family, the strong-willed woman who raised eight kids under difficult circumstances; who doted on her grandkids or put them in their place, whichever was most necessary; and who was way smarter and sharper than most people with four times her education.

I prefer to remember my aunts and uncles as a raucous, fun-loving group. I prefer to remember our holiday celebrations as a place where nobody was safe from an insult, but where everybody was safe in the knowledge that love and respect and acceptance was the final rule.

I know it's not that way now. I know people are worried. I know that people are struggling to accept the inevitable. I know that people are struggling against the passage of time. I know that people, no matter what kind of front they're putting up, will be sad when they should be happy.

And I know I'll be a little sad when I should be happy, here on the Edge of America. I am happy to be here, and my family, being the loving, accepting bunch that it is, is happy that we're happy, even if we're off in another time zone.

I want to go to the wild family Christmas celebration one more time. I really do.

But I think I missed my chance.