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It is December first. Thanksgiving
is over. The
turkey
is long gone, the good silver has been put away, and the dishwasher is
working
on the last of multiple loads of pots and pans that just recently held
the
contents of enough food to feed a small country. Each
day since Thanksgiving we have been
chipping away at the leftovers until I can finally see the four walls
of my
refrigerator. Actually, that is not
necessarily a good thing. I love
Thanksgiving leftovers, not only the food itself, but the actual
excitement of
knowing that if any of my family gets hungry, they don’t have to turn
to me
looking like those wide-eyed children painted on velvet hoping I can
fulfill
their food fantasies. I am not and never
have been a food fairy. Thanksgiving leftovers alone are sufficient reason to love the holiday. But, sadly, the near empty refrigerator is a tangible reminder that Thanksgiving is over, and for the next month, I will be inundated with the sights, sounds, and smells of Christmas everywhere I turn. Normally, this would be a good thing. Actually, it would be a very good thing. This year promises to be very different. And, if I am not very careful, I can turn this Christmas and those of the future into a holiday to be dreaded instead of cherished. This year is going to be very different for the simple reason that my mom will not be here. I’m never sure how to explain her absence. I’ve practiced several alternatives only to reject them all for various reasons. Saying, “Mom died.” sounds so final. Saying, “Mom is gone.” sounds like she moved to Idaho. Saying she “passed away “sounds kind of nebulous and begs the question of passed away to where? Saying, “We lost Mom this year.” sounds like we ought to be out looking for her rather than decorating a Christmas tree. So, regardless of how we phrase it, the bottom line is that a massive stroke three months ago called an abrupt halt to her physical presence from now on. |
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Christmas will definitely be
different
this year. I find myself thinking
there
is simply no way I can muster up any holiday spirit.
I loved my mother with every breath I
took. I still do. I
have often said that between her, my
grandmother, and I, it was hard to tell when one left off and the other
began. When my grandmother passed
away
I added my own daughter to the mix and, as the three of us were only
daughters
of only daughters, we shared a lot more than DNA. We
shared a deep understanding of each
other. Ours was an understanding that
comes from knowing each other so thoroughly that we could predict each
other’s
feelings, responses, and reactions on practically everything.
It is that profound understanding of my
mother that makes me realize that what I need to do this Christmas is
exactly
what my mother would want me to do. You
see, for Mom, the year was divided into two seasons; Christmas and
getting
ready for Christmas. We talked,
shopped, and planned all year. We spent
hours discussing recipes, gift lists, schedules, and menus. We were your typical Christmas-crazy people
who decorated everything that didn’t move and some things that did. The whole Christmas thing never got
old. It was never a burden.
And, we, never got tired of it. Since
I live in California and Mom lived in
Pennsylvania, every year I would decorate our home here, and then my
family and
I would fly home to PA to celebrate and I would decorate there. Two Christmases were fine with me.
As genetics would have it, my daughter,
Andrea inherited the Christmas gene, also. She
is the one you hear in July blasting Christmas songs
from her car
stereo and you wonder, “What the heck?” At
twenty-one, she is a thoroughly modern girl who
believes life should
be full of fun and shiny objects. But,
when it comes to Christmas, she stands solidly in the camp of family
tradition. That means she wants to eat
the same Christmas foods every year, go to the same parties and
festivities,
and sit in the same church pew on Christmas Eve. We
tried changing pews one year and she
nearly hyperventilated. I know that she is worried about how we can
have everything
the same when everything is fundamentally so different.
Mom will not be there. I will
not help her get ready for church on
Christmas Eve, and we will not wake up early on Christmas morning to
find her
sitting on the couch squirming with excitement about opening gifts. Instead, a new family will be in her house,
engaged in their own Christmas traditions on what I hope will be many
years of
holiday happiness.
And, so, here I find myself on December
first trying to figure out how to get in the mood to celebrate
Christmas when
I’m not in the mood to celebrate anything. I am alone in the house which gives me the
time and surroundings I need to actually think. Suddenly,
vague concepts begin to converge and solidify
into actual
thoughts and I find myself feeling a tiny bit ashamed.
We had just shut the door on Thanksgiving,
and already I had started to forget everything I have to be thankful
for in
favor of concentrating on the loss. Just
as suddenly it hits me that Christmas is not the time
to dwell on
loss. It is not the time to let loss dim
the excitement; the lights, the music, and the action.
It is a time to celebrate and remember who
we are as Christians. As Christians, the
foundation of our faith centers around the birth of Christ. If we are looking for reasons to celebrate,
it doesn’t get any bigger than that. If
we are needing a reason to be thankful, it doesn’t get any better than
that.
I find myself examining my faith again. If
I truly believe myself to be a Christian, how can I let my personal
loss take
precedent over Christmas? Isn’t that
like saying that my mom’s death is bigger than Christmas?
That might be true for some people, but if I
truly consider myself a Christian, that is a whole different thing. Shouldn’t celebrating the birth of Christ be
first on my list of priorities? To do
otherwise is like telling God, “I can’t deal with the baby right now,
maybe
next year.” It’s like telling Mom, “You’re
not here so no Christmas for anybody this year.”
I can’t speak for God but that doesn’t seem
very grateful. I can definitely speak
for Mom. She would want Christmas this
year and every year from now on. She
would want us to gather together, make our traditional Christmas
dishes, go to
church on Christmas Eve, and rejoice in the love of family and friends.
And, if that is true, how can I not celebrate
Christmas? How could I not dig deep inside
and muster up
the Christmas spirit that makes the season so special?
How could I not get my priorities straight
and put Christ first? For one thing,
Mom
would have my head if I didn’t. Because,
no matter how excited she got about the decorations, the food, and the
presents, she never for one minute forgot the real reason for Christmas.
When I think about the concept a bit
further, I realize that refusing to feel joy at Christmas is like
telling
myself that I would be happy if only I hadn’t lost Mom.
That is only a short step away from saying I
would be happy if only my life were perfect. No
wonder I was feeling a bit ashamed. First,
for setting such an unrealistic expectation and
basically holding
myself hostage to it. Second, because it diminishes everything I have left in my
life. It is like saying to my
family, my friends, and God, “No matter what you have given me, no
matter how
much you love me, I cannot feel joy because I have experienced loss.” That’s a pretty powerful message.
And, where would I draw the line? This
year I lost my mom. Next, year I could
face a different kind of
loss. And, the year after that? And the year after that? If
every time, we experience loss, we give up
joy, we are essentially dooming ourselves to a life of sadness,
depression, and
solitude. And, what may be even worse,
we are also condemning those who love us to bear witness to the results
of our
choice. That alone is sufficient reason
to change our thinking.
I don’t pretend to be a Biblical scholar
but, like many Christians, I have my favorite parts of the Bible. One of mine is contained in Chapters 12 and
13 of the Apostle Paul’s letter to the Corinthians in which he explains
in
detailed and eloquent terms that faith, hope, and love are a
triumvirate of
spiritual gifts from God that are with us every day of our lives. I have heard those passages many times over
the years but have never really thought of them in terms of Christmas. But, if we believe that these three spiritual
gifts are with us every day, then why would they not be with us at
Christmas? As I thought about it, I
began to see the logic. More
importantly, I began to feel the
truth of it all. And, it was easy to
see that faith, hope, and love are, indeed, with us every day of our
lives, and most especially at Christmas.
It occurs to me that celebrating Christmas
can actually be healing for those of
us who have experienced loss during the year,
especially when we allow ourselves to take comfort in the faith, hope
and
love. Who wouldn’t find peace and
comfort while singing “Silent Night, Holy Night, all is calm, all is
bright.”? And, aren’t we are reminded of
our faith each time we listen to the jubilant strains of, “Oh, Come all
ye
faithful, joyful and triumphant.”? I
find that even sitting alone here tonight, if I take the time to listen
to the
words and music in my head, I can feel the holiday spirit entering and
healing
my heart.
And, as I began to feel that holiday
spirit, I began to reexamine the gift of hope once again.
I realize that loss does not rob us of
hope. Only we can do that.
By standing steadfast in our faith and in our
love of God and others, we can easily have hope. Hope
for the future, for all of us who have
lost loved ones, who have lost jobs, or who are facing challenges that
threaten
to rob us of our happiness. Hope that
our heart will heal, that Christmas will continue to come each year as
a
reminder of God’s gift to us, and that the future will always be bright
with
promise.
St.
Paul was clear that the greatest of these three gifts is
love. That is easy to understand. Love is the foundation of everything good in
the world. Love of God, love of family
and friends, and love of life. It
sustains us when days are dark. It gives
us strength when we feel we simply cannot go on. And,
most important of all, it never
fails.
It finally becomes clear to me that
letting my sadness overcome me at Christmas is wrong on two levels. First, it undermines my Christian
beliefs. It basically places Christ
second in my list of priorities. Second,
it breaks with tradition. In this case,
Mom’s tradition of celebrating Christmas with all the lights, music,
and
festivities she could muster. She would
hate that. She would hate to think she
was responsible for a dark, sad, Christmas that focuses on the loss of
her
physical presence rather than the birth of the baby Jesus, and the
faith, hope,
and love that have always been an integral part of her holiday. I realize now that this is true for all of
us, that if we open our hearts, we can find healing
in Christmas. We can find healing in the
sights, sounds, smells of the holiday. We
can find comfort in the traditions, in the rituals, and
in singing of
the carols. And with that comfort, comes
the healing when we listen to the words, “Good Christian Men rejoice,
with
heart and soul and voice.” So in answering my question, “Should we just skip Christmas this year?” I find myself responding with a resounding, “No!” Will it be easy? I know it won’t. I know I will slip up and occasionally find myself in tears missing Mom so much I will feel like I could die as well. But, I also know that if I truly love her and truly want to honor her at Christmas, I will keep bringing my focus back to the birth of that tiny baby and what He has come to mean to Christians all over the world. And, I will let my heart be filled with the faith, hope, and love that makes it all worthwhile. I will decorate my house, bake cookies with my children, sit in Mom’s place at church on Christmas Eve, and be thankful for all that I have left in this life. I will let the faith, hope, and love of the season keep the light shining in my heart as I rejoice in the birth of the Christ child, and thank God once again for His own greatest gift during this most wonderful time of the year. And, finally, perhaps for the first time in my life, I will really listen to and take to heart the words, “God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay. Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas day.” December
1,
2010 |
