When my husband and I were first dating, we didn’t want to upset any family at the holidays. our families were 4 hours apart, and instead of spending christmas with one or the other, we would spend christmas morning with one family, drive four hours, and spend christmas supper with the other family. This meant that neither family was satisfied, we were miserable, and no one could complain.

Then my mother-in-law died, and we moved abroad. Then we had a child. Then my father died. All in that 12 months from one Christmas to the next. We spent the next few Christmases flying internationally, spending time with each side of the family in days, not hours, but making sure we saw everyone and broke bread with everyone. Never having a moment to ourselves, never sleeping in our own beds. It was a time of upheaval, not just because of the deaths and birth, but because each international move, as traumatic as it was, was only temporary. We knew there was no point in putting down roots, because we were moving again in 2 more years. Christmas was something we got through, not something we treasured.

With our older son, it was all about the structure. As long as he ate supper at 5, had a bath at 7, read books at 7:30, and was in bed by 8, traveling didn’t bother him that much. With our younger son, he wants to be home. He wants his own bed. He wants his own space. Day trips are fine as long as he is in his own bed by bedtime. This makes travel even harder and more challenging, and more miserable.

The last few years I’ve insisted we not travel on Christmas. We can go over Thanksgiving, we can go before Christmas, but on Christmas day we are in our own house. It’s been glorious. We wake up in our own space, eat our own food, open and play with our own presents on our own time.

This year we ended up getting roped into Christmas in Indiana. It’s a long story involving my BIL and SIL never going to Indiana for anything, my FIL being blind from his eye-toxic chemo treatments, and them dragging him all the way to Philly to visit them instead of just visiting him like normal, dutiful children. We ended up tasked with driving him back. Our timing ended up being terrible, because there was literally the perfect blizzard happening the day we were traveling. If it was just us, I’d reschedule the trip. But my FIL is just possibly the most stubborn person on the planet, and when he decides to do something at a certain time, he’s going to do it. even in white out conditions with black ice and below zero temperatures. We were driving two cars, so there was no switching drivers. most of the time I was driving under 30 mph, i almost got sideswiped by a semi, cars and semis were going off the road regularly, I stopped counting. At one point I was crying but trying not to show Finn, because I didn’t want to frighten him.

Finally, 11 hours into this nightmare, we got a hotel. The highway was closed 20 miles ahead of us, we were being routed through Cincinnati, it was getting dark. Even FIL had to admit defeat for the day. we collapsed and everyone was safely asleep by 8 pm. The next morning I cried more, never wanting to drive through that again, but I girded my loins and got back in that car. we made it to Indiana, a day late, which meant our schedule was now abbreviated.

Poor 8 year old had held it together so well while traveling. Christmas morning he finally lost it, crying and screaming in a way he hasn’t in a long time. He would only let me in the room, no one else, and he wouldn’t let me touch him. He kept demanding to go home. There wasn’t anything to say, so I just sat there until he calmed down, and then we went to nanaw’s and grandmas and drove 4 hours to my stepmom’s.

Our drive back was uneventful, and took about 1/3 the time of our drive there. Still plenty of time to think. I remembered why we don’t travel at Christmas. I remembered how Finn always struggles visiting family. I remembered how each time we explained it away, he’s young, he’s tired, he’s hungry. All true, but only part of the puzzle. He’s autistic, and he struggles outside his home environment. This means every trip will be like this. Every visit, every holiday away from home, every vacation. Meltdowns full of screaming, throwing, hitting, horrible dark words. Holidays are not happy things for us. Everyone is posting happy pictures of amazing holiday joy. My 8 year old was telling me to go F@$& myself. This is our life. It’s hard not to mourn what it feels like we should have, even though it’s pointless. We don’t do Polar Express trips or Breakfast with Santa or Nutcracker ballets. We don’t do them, because just like in holidays past, it’s not about us. This time, it’s about him, and what he needs. And he needs his own home at Christmas.