Fractured Family at Christmas. Again.

I am lucky to have family and in-laws around me today for a shared meal. Thirty years ago, when I was new to Ireland, I felt I was intruding when at Christmas dinner wuith people I just met that year. Back then, Amazon was just a place for books and I didn’t send books to family in America. I did call them, ringing time zones five and eight hours away.

As a septuagenarian, I still have to find anyone few living the idealised version of Christmas we see on TV. And in my personal history, I grew up considering Christmas as a work day and as the reason I wouldn’t get birthday presents.

I tried unsuccesfully this year to bring together brothers and daughters in Arizona, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Colorado, and California for this Christmas season. We got the Portlandians to meet the Irish in Oregon so that is a minor success. Sharing. Compassion. Storytelling at McMenamin’s on Broadway.

Christmas 2025 is a glaring testimony of my fractured family. I reckon the next time we meet will be at a funeral–although I prefer to celebrate life milestones like a graduation or a 16th or 21st birthday–perhaps in 2027. And at that event, with the tide of American politics turning blue, I pray we meet and embrace empathy and compassion for each other and for the planet.