It was a bad day. My energy, temper, patience, compassion…none of it was what I needed to be today. I was a shell toddling around in places I was supposed to be, present in none of them.
Somehow I remember that the greatest victories come out of these dark places.
My father gave my son and I books by Carl Jung today. A four-hundred page paperback of tiny type for an eleven-year-old.
That’s why I remember Jung, “No tree, it is said, can grow to heaven unless its roots reach down to hell.” I cling to these words as the roots dig deeper. I cling to this as I chase, battle, and retreat from demons through my dreams, leaving me unrested each morning for days.
Two hours left in this awful day and I’m on the floor with unwrapped gifts, acting out a solo version of an old tradition. Mary and I would stay up wrapping gifts, leaving evidence of Santa’s visit, and preparing for Christmas morning. Santa has left the stage, but I still feel the pressure to make Christmas morning special.
This will be my third Christmas as a single father. With all my carrying on, I’ve managed to not have a girlfriend each year at this time. Maybe Mary still occupies too much of my heart in this season, there may not be room for anyone else quite yet.
I thought the miracle might come today. This month has been indefatigably difficult. I know something wonderful is near. It will be a surprise and I am eager for it to arrive. I suppose that is why I must wait a while longer.