Yuletide traditions

[Spoiler alert for Whovians who haven't seen this year's Xmas special yet. I mention some details below.]

I tend to breathe a sigh of relief on December 26, glad to be past the all-consuming cultural obsession with Christmas for another year. Sandy didn't care for the shopping frenzies or religious iconography either, but she wasn't quite as dismissive of the holiday as I was.

Sandy often wore this gold shirt during the holiday season.
I don't know how she tolerated it. There isn't a natural fiber in
it, and it itched like crazy when I tried it on. But she felt
festive in it every year.

Sandy liked shiny things. She liked dressing up. She liked Christmas carols (the perfect bait for getting people to sing together in groups). She liked seeing friends and family. She looked forward to the Doctor Who Christmas special. And she counted down the days to the bonanza of fresh fannish stories served up for Yuletide.

I spent yesterday afternoon and evening with Sandy's sister and her family. It was a mellow and pleasant occasion, with the kids grown (and one now on the East coast), and no other extended family in attendance. Allison and Viv baked cookies; we played Mexican Train with dominoes; Kevin made a feast of a meal. We joked and talked and ate.

Sandy and I spent Christmas afternoon there last year, too, though it was a little less mellow, with a wider range of ages in attendance. Last year, we were home by mid-afternoon, and Sandy spent much of the rest of the day reading Yuletide stories; we also made gyozas for dinner and felt very proud of ourselves.

I got home after 9:00 last night, much later than I'd expected, and considered just getting ready for bed. But I wanted a connection with Sandy, a connection with her and our Christmas traditions. So I treated myself to the Doctor Who special. In it, as a side effect of some other adventures, a widow manages to change history and regain her husband, just as she's breaking the news of his death to their children.

I so desperately want Doctor Who to come, whisk me into some unintended danger, and then, in saving the day, manage to bring Sandy back with us. So many times in books or TV or movies, I see the dead come back to life, either because we learn they aren't really dead or because the timeline gets corrected or there's some other force at work. I'm really not picky about the scenario; I want her back, and I'll be happy to be part of some fantastic plot. Just so she's here at the end of the scene.

Before turning out the light, I browsed the new Yuletide stories and found a couple that were written in universes that Sandy and I both knew. I read them aloud, offering her this taste of her fannish tradition (and enjoying the stories myself). But the connection was weak, and my despair was strong. I slept poorly, and woke feeling bereft. I'm not sighing with relief that Christmas is over this year. It's just another day in a seemingly endless string of days that Sandy isn't here.