Hannukah is so different this year. Thinking about it too much makes my chest hurt, so I try to avoid being nostalgic about how festive it used to be. I distinctly remember counting down the days. Fighting with Phoebe over who got to put the candle on the velcro menorah each night. Mounds of colorful presents, 8 of which smelled like cigarette smoke from my step grandmother's blackened lungs. Waiting anxiously in my room, while my parents hid my presents around the house. Searching for said presents ravenously, worrying that Phoebe was going to find hers before me. That feeling of warmth and utter joy that a kid gets simply from a stupid toy, one that would soon be forgotten in the weeks to come.
That velcro menorah is lying in a pile of dust and other unwanted objects in the crevices of Phoebe's closet. My step grandmother is out of my life, I probably won't even be able to tell you when the blackness of her lungs finally conquers her. Phoebe is gone, and I am now given a present every night in the manner that adults exchange gifts. Seated, proper, carefully unfolding wrapping paper, politely thanking. I suppose it is all for the better that I have moved on from the child version of Hannukah. Now, my warmth and joy comes from gratitude I have that I get to have a nice dinner with my parents every night. And from my new found fascination with candles. How quickly that flame can make them go from a tall standing pillar of success to nothing but melted goop. I don't know, I guess change is healthy or something like that. Thats what they say at least.
Change is hard, I should know.
I really liked your post today.
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