Holidays are where I notice the biggest changes in our lives.
The house isn’t as colorful as it has been in the past and it isn’t filled with wonderful smells of food made with loving care.
But it is so peaceful. Christmas music plays while my boys quietly build their Lego sets and I lay back in bed, taking time for myself. They were excited for the most modest gifts. I feel like I know them better than ever, that our loss and struggles have brought us closer together.
We don’t have a tree up, I haven’t acquired stocking stuffers, and I’m not sure where the stockings are.
These were all on my mind as I pulled this card from don Miguel Ruiz’s The Four Agreements deck.
Now I’m thinking of Halloween. Mary was Tippi Hedren from Hitchcock’s The Birds one year before we met. She took bloody pecks out of a stylish blazer, wired birds around her, and had more birds torturing her hair. It was brilliant.
We overdid it all. Costumes, hikes, meals, decorations…we never sat for more than an evening by the fire. Even that would be rife with problem solving and planning.I don’t know if that’s what left her depleted and unable to fight off the infection, or whether she knew in her soul that her time would not be long. Both could be true.
This Christmas has been refreshingly honest. We’re not trying to make it look like the Christmases we had with Mom. We’re taking possession of it and enjoying the music, movies, and Holy Spirit of the season. And for some reason, the Holy Spirit seems to be working overtime in our lives bringing us new adventures, friends, fun, joy, and peace. The Christmas magic has been strong and was ushered in as we said goodbye to some dishonest magic.
There’s no more Santa Claus here. I grew up without the myth and I didn’t want to raise our children with it, but Mary was passionate about bringing joy to the boys and had so much fun with it. Each year we took the boys to visit Santa and made sure that he put one of their requests under the tree. Wrapping paper was carefully designated, cookies and carrot were bitten into, and Santa always left a note in a familiar hand. I too loved to see their faces as they rediscovered these treasures each Christmas morning. It felt okay, but never right to me. My elder son figured things out when I lost my temper this summer and angrily murdered the Tooth Fairy myth. My younger denied the truth for some time, but came around about a month ago. I couldn’t keep it up this year. I’ve promised them that they could count on me for truthful answers to any questions, no matter how difficult. I’ve answered countless questions about their mom, her sudden illness, and her last week in the hospital. Santa no longer ranked for me. There’s real magic in the world. It doesn’t need a fictional story to be built around it. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. The more truthful and open we are with one another, the more connected we become, the closer we get to the core of each other. That’s where I often see God, in the common places we honestly and heartfully share.
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It’s always intense here. Whether it’s fun, difficult, loud, quiet, angry, sad, focused, scattered, adventurous, or laid back, we seem to swing the pendulum as far as it will go.
Today was a rainbow of intensity. Early ups with cousins, off to jiu-jitsu, good-byes to family, long hike with friends, fights over lunch and screen time, a high-stakes South Phillyopoly game, collaborative dinner prep, more screen time fighting, and a post-dinner movie of surprising weight: The Man Who Invented Christmas.
As the movie tells it, Charles Dickens was of two minds. A giving and tireless lover of children and a man darkened by his creations. I’m no Dickens, heck, I’m no Dan Stevens, who brought the historical figure into pained relief on the screen. But I saw the monster rise up in the man as it rises in me. Taunted by the things he could not overcome in himself, or would not directly face. I think my sons saw it as well.
Jekyll and Hyde, the Incredible Hulk, this story isn’t new. But putting Dickens at the center, surrounded by books and characters, and a story fighting to be written put it right in our laps. We’re writing this story and taking power away from the past, taking the pain away from it and making it hope. Using freedom from the past to write today’s story, to lift a burden, and to make the world better for it.
Thank God it’s gotten easier to self publish since 1843.
Holidays are where I notice the biggest changes in our lives.
I don’t know if that’s what left her depleted and unable to fight off the infection, or whether she knew in her soul that her time would not be long. Both could be true.
