Nea Fane – Un Biet Român Pripășit în America / A Hapless Romanian Stuck in The US

Cosmin didn’t like Christmas.

He had enjoyed it a long time ago, back when he was younger and his beloved Grandma was still with us. They even attempted caroling at one point, but being Popescus, they quickly realized their limitations and ended up simply reading the words—plenty of feeling, but no singing.

When Grandma left us, it shook Cosmin to his core. Grandpa, too, was devastated and stopped visiting. Winter celebrations became dry and hollow, with us, the parents, doing our best to fill the enormous void left by Grandma, though with little success. We went through the motions, trying in vain to create new traditions, like taking trips on Christmas Day, just to stay busy and avoid the spectre of an empty table. And so we visited Sedona, Lake Havasu, the Monastery in Florence, and other beautiful places, all quiet and devoid of tourists.

It was during these years that we realized the best Christmases were the ones spent by the fireplace or cuddled with a pet, sharing memories of those who had left us.

Then, for a few years, Grandpa returned to celebrate with us. Those were good times. Cosmin was home from college and, once again, the table was filled with sausages, cabbage rolls, polenta, and other traditional delights. Christmas felt festive again. Our traditional Christmas Day trips, too, seemed better than ever because, rather than merely a way to avoid overeating, they were, instead, a wonderful way to reconnect and spend time together.

But then Grandpa joined Grandma, leaving us with an even deeper emptiness. That same year, though, the Favorite Nephew got married, and with him came his new in-laws: a traditional Polish family.

In the spirit of unity, we were invited to the traditional Christmas Eve dinner at the new in-laws’ home. Cosmin and I protested, albeit weakly, mainly because we understood that these were Mom’s people, her tribe. We had to keep close. So we dressed up, promising to lean on one another, and off we went.

Years passed. The Christmas Eve tradition plowed on, the family grew, children started crawling through the house, and the pile of presents became so immense that the beverage cart had to be moved into a hallway or wherever it was closer to the thirsty guests. Through it all, Cosmin and I kept leaning on each other. Eventually, the Other Favorite Nephew got married and, a little over two years ago, Cosmin left us to join his beloved grandparents.

This is now our third Christmas without him. They say the second year is the hardest, although I don’t know who decided that. From here, each year feels just as painful as the one before. Last year, I think we attended the Christmas Eve gathering, but I can’t quite recall: the memories are obliterated by grief. This year, however, we’ll go and I’ll write about it. They’re my wife’s people. Her tribe. She has to keep close.

As for me, I’ll be there, and I will be leaning on my memories, bracing myself for the sharp, rendering taste of a glass ornament.