A NEW CHRISTMAS

                                              

Last year at Christmas I couldn’t comprehend how I was supposed to even begin to enjoy the holidays. For you see, the only thing I once swore I couldn’t live without, was gone. Grief has a way of darkening the sunshine, making the winter feel colder than it is and masking all of the things you used to enjoy. You don’t hear the birds sing or notice the flowers anymore. The Christmas music you loved so much falls on deaf ears, and those old familiar carols might as well be any old song. The very food you eat is flat and tasteless. You drink, hoping it will dull your mind and help you forget, but it only gives you a headache. You just want it all to be over. You feel as if you have been given a sentence to serve out, as your punishment for loving her.

Then something happened amongst all of those sad times. The days gradually grew longer, and all of that self-centered pity you yearned for didn’t seem that important any more. Slowly, the sun rose higher in the sky and its radiating warmth seemed to take your troubles and wash them away with the melting snow. For the first time, you sensed this was a process you needed to get through if you wanted to go forward again, and although there were no shortcuts, you could make it better if you just helped out a little. For the first time, you noticed others who had gone down this same lonely dark sacred trail, and they seemed to smile more often than they used to. You sensed the worst part of their journey, through this valley of grief, was coming to a close. By their example, they were urging you on and helping you get through it.

I went to the store the other day and bought a small Christmas tree. I needed to have a Christmas again, but it needed to be more subdued for now. So I purchased just a small tree with all of the lights already on it. In a closet, I found the box with all of the ornaments we had collected over the years. I picked out a few special ones—they all seem to have a story behind them. Then I found the nativity scene she loved so much. Each tiny figurine wrapped in little bubble wrap bags she had sewed to keep them safe. I set it up under the tree. Last year this would have brought a gusher of tears, but this year…well…it’s all right. I know she would have liked what I did and that’s important to me. I still need her approval-- even now.

I wrote a lot about her this last year—thanks for your patience with me. But this New Year is a kind of new beginning for me, so that part of my life is best left to fade a little. Not forgotten—just tucked away in my memory bank. A new day is dawning, and a new world is taking shape. What better time to launch it than at Christmas. One of the things that made her so happy was to make me happy, and now I need to take her example and make others happy. As old as I am, I’ve learned that you can’t run away from your grief. You just need to face it, use it all up and when it’s gone—in its place there will, once again, be new love and smiles. Yes, even a few giggles scattered there amongst all of the happy things that just can’t coexist in a sadly broken heart. So from my pup Molly and me, I wish you a Merry Christmas and may God bless all of you—and next year— well, let’s have lots of happy stories.