Anyone who knows me, knows that Christmas Eve is the pivotal point of the year for me.
No matter how bad things have been during the year, Christmas Eve is always magical, and it can redeem a year of SHIT into something not so bad.
Anyone who knows me, even casually, knows that Christmas Eve is a sacred, special occasion, and that I go all out for my guests on that night.
They know that it is deeply a part of who I am, and of what family means to me.
That's why what happened on this Christmas Eve is abhorrent to me. Unconscionable. Horrifying.
Something inside of me actually broke.
I debated about whether to put it out here on my blog or not. I decided that my blog is my record of the events in my life, and that I have put blatantly personal information out here all along.
This event needs to be added. This is MY forum for MY life....so if anyone disagrees with my putting this event here, they can stop reading my blog!
The ham we got this year was BEAUTIFUL!
The night before Christmas Eve, Dave's son texted him and asked if he could bring a date.
You may recall that last year, Eric didn't even bother to respond to my invitation to dinner, and made no effort to reach out to me or Dave at all.
It took me confronting him to get him to even acknowledge the fact that I had invited him, and then he made some excuse about thinking that he had texted a reply to me.
Whatever.
SO, anyway, of course, yes, he could bring a date with almost no notice....that would be fine.
I was able to make space for seven at our table that seats six.
Eric arrived an hour before we had said we wanted folks to arrive, which was fine. He said his date would join us in time for dinner. We gave him the gift he had asked for, a bottle of TX whiskey.
He had been complaining about back pain, and told us that he got some pain killers from a friend. He didn't say specifically that he had TAKEN any of them before arriving at our house, though.
He mixed himself a drink with his new whiskey, and he and Dave chatted while I finished my cooking projects.
I stopped paying attention to how much he was drinking, as this was my big night, and I had a lot to do.
Everyone else arrived before it was time to eat, so we sat down, and our Swiss friends taught us again how to sing a grace prayer.
The wine glasses were raised, and the feast commenced. If I do say so myself, the food was excellent! The ham turned out perfectly, as did the spoon bread, and the carrots with a brown butter vinaigrette. Yum!!
The wine bottles were passed around, and one of them stopped in front of Eric. Again, I wasn't really paying attention (it's not my job to babysit him), but in retrospect, I realize now that he drank almost an entire bottle of our special Christmas Eve wine ($30 a bottle or something like that) himself.
Conversations went on, and Eric got louder and louder. He started repeating himself, and gushed about how awesome I am, and how he loves me more than his real mom.
Dessert was served, coffee was made, cognac was served. We all realized that Eric was shit-faced drunk, and the guest to his right poured him some water. I took the wine bottle away, but it was empty.
We passed the cookies. We sipped our cognac.
And Eric stood up, and vomited all over Dave, the table, the floor, one of our guests, the presents under the tree, the rug, and then the front porch, as he stumbled outside.
It. Was. Horrifying.
All I could do was stare in disbelief as it unfolded in slow motion. Dave sat stunned, with vomit on his shoulder, down his back, and on his chair seat.
Eventually, the spell was broken. I jumped up and removed dishes, glasses, and candles from the table to take up the table cloth. Dave dashed back to the washing machine and took off his shirt. I said something to Eric's date about going out to find him.
I gave our guest something to clean himself up with, as he refused to take off his shirt and throw it in the laundry, too.
At that point, I freaked out, and went out the back door into the cold, dark night. It was 25 degrees and windy, and I didn't have a coat, but I thought I was going to be sick, and I was having a full blown panic attack.
One of my guests was cleaning up the mess. ONE OF MY GUESTS!! Because I freaked out.
I can't handle puke of any kind....but still.....She took control and got it mostly cleaned up.
Dave's chair was carried outside by the man who had been puked on, and Eric's date. I watched them from the far back corner of my back yard.
At that point, I realized that I was freezing, that I wasn't as out of my mind as I had been, and that a person with a compromised immune system should probably be wearing a coat or jacket in this deeply cold wind.
I went back inside, was asked to provide plastic bags, so that when the puke was in the garbage can it would not continue to stink.
I gave the bags, put on a jacket, and went back outside. My other guest who also can't handle puke (who had retreated to our bedroom when I had dashed outside the first time) joined me outside. She got me talking about something else and got my mind off of the awful things that were happening.
Dave told me later that he had brought Eric back inside, shirtless (the shirt was still outside?), and had cleaned him up. He had also confiscated Eric's keys.
I found a puke towel on my couch when I came back in as Eric's date was leading him out the door to take him home.
It was a blessing that she had arrived separately, AND that she was willing to take care of him, because I would not have been comfortable with him crashing on our couch. I wanted him GONE.
Everyone else left then, too. Our hoped-for post dinner card game never happened.
I found more spots of puke that had been missed, and asked Dave to clean them up while I dealt with the dishes.
(found more the next morning, and will probably find more yet--He had put his hand over his mouth, so it squirted out between his fingers and went in odd directions)
I was numb. I think I was in some form of shock. Dave kept asking if I was okay, and I kept saying NO, of course I am NOT OKAY!!
I couldn't sleep that night at all, because the scene would NOT stop replaying in my mind. Over and Over and Over and Over.....I could not UNSEE it.
Or unfeel the feelings it generated in me.
Early Christmas morning, Dave's phone rang, but we were sleeping, so he ignored it. Then, there was a knock at the door. Eric's date had brought him to get his truck. Dave got up, opened the door, gave him his keys. All they said to one another was "hi," as far as I know.
Our Christmas morning was, to say the least, not very merry.
We opened our gifts, and had our cold ham for breakfast, and I insisted that we start taking down the decorations and putting them away.
I wanted Christmas GONE. The only other time I have felt this way was when my mom died.
Our friend who had been puked on came back over for our date to go to the movies that day around noon.
Eric had been scheduled to join us, but he never responded to Dave's texts with the theater and time. I texted him and asked if he felt better.
He replied "Sorry about last night. My back still hurts, not going to make the movie."
Okay, good. Him NOT joining us was exactly what I wanted, because I would have stayed home if he had showed up.
We went to the movie and enjoyed it. It really helped to distract me.
When we came back home, we shared a beer with our friend, and he told me that he also was unable to sleep the night before. That made me feel terrible again.
After he left, we finished putting the decorations away. Dave was off the next day, and he put the tree away then.
I went to work, and while I was at work, I started to process the events more completely. I was in a VERY bad mood that day, still unable to stop seeing everything in my mind.
I texted Dave and told him to have Eric come get his whiskey, or to at least try to. I made it clear that this needed to happen when I was NOT home.
He texted him, but he didn't respond for a few hours.
Then, he actually called Dave, and they talked. Dave said he was apologetic, but that he didn't actually remember what happened. (He also never came to get his whiskey. It's still here.)
He had been to the chiropractor for his back, and was feeling better.
As the week went along, I realized that I was going through stages not unlike the stages of grief.
I tried to talk to Dave about it, and his reply was that he hoped I would get over this.
Get over it? That's really up to Eric, I said. Dave said "he texted you that he was sorry."
Ugh.
Something inside me was BROKEN by this grown man's childish, irresponsible, and blatantly DISRESPECTFUL behavior on my biggest, most special night.
I told Dave that a text that says "sorry" -- Not even "I'M sorry" -- is a cop out, and that it does NOT even come close to making amends for such a terrible thing.
I said that Eric probably thinks that it was FUNNY, because that's his personality.
It was not funny. Not even a little bit.
Eric is not welcome in this house until he understands the extent of what he did, and makes amends TO ME.
Dave is going to have to tell him what he did, though, because he doesn't fucking remember.
So. That's that.
My Christmas Eve, which started out perfectly, and was headed in the direction of redeeming a year that was fraught with disaster, was completely ruined.
This weekend, it's bitterly cold. Our plans to have a birthday celebration for one of our guests from Christmas Eve fell through because she came down with a bad cold.
Since plans for last night were canceled, I went with Dave to take care of his dad, and we stopped at Kohl's so I could buy some new warm boots, and some new jeans. Then we stopped at one of the local breweries. It was a nice day.
Until I found out that my brother shipped me my wooden soldier nut cracker from my childhood, and that it was stolen off of our front porch on Yule.
We were HOME that day, except for a couple of hours. The delivery and theft had to have happened while we were out. GOD DAMMIT!!!
I hate this Christmas.
Today, I will do my chores that didn't get done yesterday.
Our usual plan for New Year's Eve is in place... we will watch "Harvey," and nosh on hot hors d'oeuervs until midnight, then open a split of champagne to kick 2017 in the ASS.
Happy New Year, dear Reader.... May you find 2018 to be happy, healthy, and NOT fraught with disaster.
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