This past weekend I spent a wonderful day with my parents, sisters and their families. It had snowed the night before and it was a bit gloomy outside. The long car ride to their place in the world always gives me the opportunity for my generally scattered mind to wander a little farther than normal. A bit scary given that I am driving a car but I seem to be able to do these two things at once. I was enjoying wonderful holiday music by Mannheim Steamroller and thinking about the season, when I passed a huge sign that simply said… “What’s Your Christmas Wish?”
To almost everyone who either knows me or follows this blog, my answer is seemingly obvious. As quickly as I thought of my wish, I thought about why maybe that wasn’t really what my wish would or should be. I’ve wished for many things in my life. I have been blessed with the granting of many of those wishes. But what was granted wasn’t always what I thought I had wished for. Sometimes it was better. Sometimes it was very different but turned out to be what I should have wished for in the first place. And sometimes I received what I needed more, when the wish wasn’t granted.
As a kid, it was a fabulous day, that day, every December; when the mailman brought the big Sears “Wish Book”. My brother and sisters and I would get a pen or marker and start circling anything and everything we thought was wanted or needed from the back of the big catalog. The life sized dolls. The doll houses, the roller skates and on and on. There were fights about whose turn it was to view the book, who had it too long. My poor parents. As I think back, I never really remember ever getting anything from those wish books. I don’t know that my parents ever even went through the motions of pretending to take note of the items circled… but on Christmas morning, it didn’t matter. The gifts we were given were always more than we expected and in their own way, the gift we should have wished for. All my childhood Christmas morning memories are wonderful and cherished.
One year, I wished for a Dance-a-rina doll. I wished harder than I had ever wished before for the 3 foot, ballet dancing, toe shoe wearing, big bad hair like a 1st runner up in a Miss Alabama beauty pageant, doll. If you manipulated the plastic crown on her head, after inserting 12 D cell batteries in her back, she could twirl around on her toes. Very cool. She was the hot item that year, a sure sign I wasn’t getting her. I hinted, cut out magazine ads, annoyingly sang the jingle at every opportunity but knew my parents well enough to know the chances of that 3 foot blond bombshell being my gift were slim to none. But like Ralphie and his Red Ryder Carbine Action BB Gun, I just had to keep wishing. As the day got closer, nothing even remotely sized or shaped like Dance-a-rina had been brought into the house. I don’t remember if my excitement began to fade or my stress level rose as time began to run out. One evening, my mom asked me to run out to the car and get her cigarettes. Ok, it was the early 70’s, you sent your kids to get stuff like that and, hold on... kids were sent to get the parent’s drinks as well. I do owe the fact that I make one hell of a fine martini (3 olives please) to the misguidance of parents that didn’t believe asking an 8 year old to mix a cocktail may not be the best developmental or age appropriate task. Anyway, as I pushed open the screen door, Mom yelled that they were in the back seat… who the heck leaves their cigarettes in the back seat? Weirdo. As I looked in to the back, all I saw was a pile of dry cleaning, no cigarettes. I knew if I went back in to that house without those darn cigarettes, my mom would be very upset. So I jumped in the back and dove into the pile of dry cleaning. As I crashed in to the pile… I lost my breath. Could it, no wait, yes... This was it!!! My wish, it had come true! But wait, was I supposed to find this or was this cruel trick? For many years my parents hid a neighbor’s kid’s Hanukah gifts at our house… oh God please don’t let this be one of those years… but I’ll admit, I didn’t know if I should scoop up the box and run gleefully in or if I should wipe the smile off my face and casually saunter back in the house like my world had not just collided with a parallel universe in the back seat of a Ford Fairlane…. So I grabbed the box and although it looked different than the box on TV, it was my Dance-a-rina and she belonged in the house. My mom and dad were standing at the door as I brought her in. Funny but they didn’t have the look I had come to expect. Usually when they had busted their bottoms to get one of us something special, they had a glow, an excitement to their face. So why did they look downright scared? No time to worry about them. My Dance-a-rina needed to be unpacked, batteries inserted and she needed to dance. As I began the slow tender process of getting her out of the box, it dawned on me… why wasn’t anyone offering to help me? Why was everyone watching so intently as I struggled with the box? Once I got the box open, I understood. I understood the look on my parent’s face, the need for my brother and sisters to stand aside and the reason why the box was somewhat different than the one on the Saturday morning commercials. This Dance-a-rina was, as we said back then…. Black. The room was so very still as everyone watch for my reaction. Would I accept this as the Dance-a-rina I was meant to have or would some terrible prejudice enter in to my 10 year old world? As I yelled “she’s so beautiful” a collective sigh of relief went through the entire house. The back story is that my parents literally went to every conceivable store to get this doll. At one point they relied on information from a fellow Dance-a-rina hunter who had heard about a truck load of the doll coming to a certain store. My parents made the trek and once got there were thrilled to learn that yes they had the doll. Yes they had the doll but only in the African American version. I’m pretty proud that my parents had enough faith in me and wanted so desperately to fulfill my wish that while I’m sure they were nervous, they took the leap of faith and made the purchase.
When my late husband and I had our children, we did, as my parents had, try to do all possible to make their wishes come true. We worked more than one job, worked opposite shifts, went without. Was all this hard, you bet. But it was so worth all the long hours, sore feet, sleep deprivation and the lack of extra funds to produce the great people I proudly call my kids. My kids didn’t get all they wished for, I don’t think anyone should. But the wishes that were granted and those they weren’t, helped make them who they are today.
The holidays have always been a time of giving back for my family. As a kid we always worked on projects that had us helping our community. As an adult I have been blessed to take part in some amazingly huge wish granting programs. My previous career was with a major corporation and every year the company would grant wishes for children who were part of the DCFS system. I always dreaded the day when we received the lists from thousand of kids along with their wishes. We had to do some organizing of lists and set up how they would be distributed throughout the company. Employees would come and grab a stack of wish letters and read through them until they found the one they wanted to grant. I believe there was a two week turn time between getting the wish and returning the item or items for distribution. In all the years I was involved, we were so fortunate to grant an average of 5000 wishes each and every year. The wishes were for everything from underwear to bikes. How sad to make your one shot at a really big wish, be for underwear. Think of all the times your parents got you socks for Christmas, how did you feel? Did you ever really have to wish for a pair of tightie-whities? Sadly many kids wished for items for their mom or dad. Some even wished for food. I always loved that my kids actively participated in this event. I still get goose bumps thinking about the huge trucks being loaded with the mass quantities of gifts, wishes now fulfilled. DCFS never anticipated the care and compassion of my fellow employees. The generosity was overwhelming. If a kid asked for a bike… he got the Cadillac of bikes. We were always allotted one 18 wheeler… most years we had to hire an additional 3 or 4 trucks to take everything to the agency. The sense of pride that comes along with giving back is indescribable. In many ways, my family was not the norm in our wish granting or our desire to give back. We also gave of our time and talents as well. I always wondered why some believe that you can only give items or money to make a difference in this world. Your time has an amazing value, as do your talents. Until we moved back to this area we had always participated in a huge day of service held every June. Thousands of folks gathered together to join in and paint the schools in this major Midwest town. Some years our kids joined us, but most years it was just my husband and I. I’ll always remember quite fondly the year we realized this event would take place on our 25th wedding anniversary. We never considered not attending. What better way to celebrate our accomplishment then by assisting in the painting of over 200 schools. We agreed that this was our way of, together giving back. As I write this, I’m so fondly reminded of walking in to the classroom he was painting, I had been painting the hall. On the far wall in the most obnoxious pink paint was written… “I love you more this minute than ever before… I can’t wait to see how I feel in an hour, 25 years… piece of cake! Let’s go for 25 more”. I couldn’t wish for anything more…
So, what is my Christmas wish? Of course I wish you all whatever your heart most desires. I wish all the babies recently born into my world or those just about to introduce themselves, all the love they need, all the happiness they can hold and all the best of everything. My wish for the new parents is simple, breath, trust, love and laugh. I wish for my family and friends to know all that they mean to me. I wish them to know my love for them deepens every day. I wish for my wonderful son and daughter, peace in your heart and head. I wish that they know the depths of love that brought them into this world and I wish it sustains them going forward. I wish the world would understand the closeness of a wish and a prayer… I believe God answers prayers and that God uses people to grant wishes... I pray that God answers my prayers and will help me understand why I can’t have what I truly wish for… I believe when the time is right he will…
I hope so…
Merry Christmas…
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
Friday 12/11/2009 snow
This week my little neck of the woods saw its first measureable snow. Well at least I think we did. I left work much later than normal and as I walked to my car big fluffy flakes began to fall. It was crisp and cold and just the kind of night you would much rather be in front of a fireplace, snuggled up with someone special. I was getting into a cold car with only the prospect of snuggling up to my getting-bigger-every-second puppy. Ok I’ll admit she’s soft and warm and a pretty good snuggler but some of her ill timed nips really catch me off guard and yowza they hurt. Because she’s been in her crate for a few hours she needs to be played with as soon as I get home in order for her to be ready to climb in bed with me when I get sleepy. So the cuddle in front of the fireplace isn’t gonna happen anytime soon. Anyway, as I drove home the snow was getting ridiculously thick and it looked as if it had been snowing for hours. The roads were a mess and I was getting scared. I couldn’t see any ruts in the snow that I could follow and the snow was falling and blowing at me making it very hard to drive. Once I got off the main highway, it seemed to let up just a bit to ease many of my fears. Given how tired I was and I guess I would add stressed, both from the long day at work and the drive… my thoughts began to turn to snow storms in the past.
I've always loved a snow storm. I grew up in the Great Lakes region and learned 2 very important weather terms very early in life: Lake effect snow and wind chill factor. I lived where both terms could be jubilation or sorrow. Jubilation as the lake effect snow dumped and extra 6, 8 or 10 inches of snow causing schools to close and sorrow as it wasn’t until I think I was in high school that the powers that be understood that kids should not stand outside waiting for a school bus when it’s -70 wind chill. I can still feel that spine snapping, throat tightening zap of cold, those mornings brought. I was most fortunate to have survived the blizzards of 1979. I had planned to graduate a semester early from High School. Nope, not that I was a wiz kid or anything like that… it was pure self preservation. I loved high school… not the classes, not the learning; nope I loved the socializing… I knew that if I had a reduced schedule for the 2nd semester, more free time during the school day, I would really mess it up and possibly not graduate. So I’d love to say at this point that I buckled down and worked my ass off but, not so much. As the holidays approached, I somehow kept forgetting to go to class. I don’t really remember why but suddenly there was a letter home saying that because I ditched class I was being given 3 days of in-school suspension. Ok so what sense does that make? I hated Ms. Ienichner’s class so I ditched and then as punishment... I don’t “get” to go to her class for the 3 days before Thanksgiving. Oh darn! That really hurt. The cool thing was I had 6 hours each day to catch up on all the stuff I was falling behind in. I kept the pace up until the Christmas holiday break. I knew if I could skate through the 3 weeks after the holidays, I’d make it and graduate. We were slated to go back to school the first Monday of the New Year. However on Sunday we had the first of 2 or 3 major snow storms. Some crazy number of inches fell in record time. It was the wet heavy snow that causes all types of problem. The cleanup was slow, schools was closed for Monday and Tuesday. By Tuesday evening we were being hit with round 2 and schools were closed for the week. Friday the cleanup was progressing nicely until the next storm dumped 20 new inches of snow on top of the already dangerous amount on the ground. School was closed for a second week. But lightning didn’t strike a 3rd time and we went back to school for what should have been finals week. We were supposed to take our finals and then graduate the following Sunday. It was decided that finals for the general students were delayed 2 weeks. But they could not delay graduation. Some kids were registered for collage classes beginning the next week. So we were told to go discuss with our teachers our grades or what had to be completed to get a final grade. Bonus!!! I could so talk my way to graduation... and in some cases I did. Then came the wrinkle… I had never actually finished Freshman Biology and it had slipped through the cracks. I met with Mr. Oak… Mr. Oak was one of those guys that wanted you to think he was a jerk but in truth was a great guy who loved his wife, his kids and teaching. He told me I had to take the final the next morning and in order to pass the class; I basically had to get an A. I studied so hard but knew the odds were stacked against me. But I showed up bright and early. Mr. Oak approached me with a huge stack of papers. The room was set up with stations of slides and fetal pigs and other never needed in my lifetime before or since biology crap. I took my seat; Mr. Oak actually offered me a cup of coffee. It was meant as a reassuring gesture but it scared the heck out of me… He handed me the test packet and said to only turn it over when I was told to and he left the room. My head was spinning. I was supposed to give the benediction at graduation. I hadn’t started writing it and now I thought that might be a sign. I thought it was a sign that maybe I couldn’t write it because I knew deep down I wouldn’t be there to present it. After an eternity, Mr. Oak came back in the room. Turn the test over he said in his quirky voice…. Shaking, I turned it over… in big bold letters it said… Spell the word BIOLOGY. There was a #1 and a line for my answer. I wrote B-I-O-L-O-G-Y and turned the page. Nothing... not on that page or any of the other 15 pages. On the 16th page in Mr. Oak’s block penmanship it said... “You got an A... now go out and do the best you can to have a fabulous life”. I so clearly remember he walked over to me, kissed my cheek and said “good luck”. My heart was bursting, not because I had passed but because for one of the first times in my life I understood what it meant to truly enjoy, the joy of others. I knew how good he felt and that made me want to have that feeling too. In that moment I also knew just what I was going to say for the benediction. It took me about 15 minutes to write and a second to get the approval from Dr. Hoffman the Administrator. I’ve had this happen again recently. I had decided to do my husband’s eulogy. I felt I was the one who knew him best and it was my duty. I decided this very early Saturday morning after he had died just hours before. I had no idea if this was the proper thing to do or what I should say. I called the folks at the Pastoral care office at the hospital. They had been so kind. They gave great tips and provided some pointers that came in handy. But I still didn’t know what to write. I thought about it all day Saturday and Sunday… I couldn’t come up with anything. This was a rich, full and wonderful life my husband had shared with me and I couldn’t get a thought together to honor him. The service was scheduled for Tuesday. By Monday evening I was drained and couldn’t think clearly. I was so tired and sad and if I’m being honest, lost. I was about to let many people down, least of all was myself. I was feeling overwhelmed and decided I needed air. My house was so full of people who loved him and I needed to breathe and not talk about the past 4 days or the past 30 years. As I stood at the front door, the police officer who was with me as they tried to save my husband came around the garage. I was so relieved that he was there. I didn’t know why until later but for having just met this young man a few days before, I felt deeply connected to him. He was the only person in the world I didn’t have to explain to what had happened. As he came in I hugged him and felt myself exhale. We chatted and he met some of my family. I thanked him again and I will continue to thanks him as time goes on. He said something to me about me being awesome and if there was anything I needed, I actually don’t remember. What I do remember was that I got the same feeling I had years before on that most snowy day, with Mr. Oak. I had the feeling that this young cop knew he had made a difference when he was with me that terrible morning and he was proud to do it. As we said good bye with the promise of talking again I knew what I had to do… I had to honor the man I loved so deeply for so long by telling the world all the wonderful things about him they may not know. The journey we had taken together would be the cornerstone of his eulogy. I knew then that like Mr. Oak, my husband had taught me to bring out the joy in those around me. Like the young officer, my husband showed me how to care for someone I really didn’t even know but immediately connected with. What I had agonized over for 4 days… took about 20 minutes to write. I was proud of what I was able to express. I was able to open up avenues for others at the service to piggyback on and say what was in their hearts to say about him.
So I arrived home on that snowy night earlier this week and let my puppy out. She looked back at me as she stepped into the wet snow, possibly looking for some explanation. The she got excited and started jumping and playing and sliding. At one point she slid off the end of the deck and looked up at me as if I had done something to cause her to end up on her back. We played for a bit and went to bed. Very early the next morning she needed to go back outside, nature calls. As I opened the door… no snow? It was 43 degrees and there was no trace of the snow we had played in just a few hours before. For a moment I thought I was dreaming. But as the weather is here, I should not have been surprised. My pup was a bit disappointed. But she will learn that there will be storms of all kind that come in to and out of her life. Just as I have learned so completely that there are people who come into and go out of our lives. Some hang out for awhile… some leave before you are ready. I hope I give joy to those I meet and I take joy from our meeting. I think if I can do that more than not… I’ll be just fine.
I hope so…
I've always loved a snow storm. I grew up in the Great Lakes region and learned 2 very important weather terms very early in life: Lake effect snow and wind chill factor. I lived where both terms could be jubilation or sorrow. Jubilation as the lake effect snow dumped and extra 6, 8 or 10 inches of snow causing schools to close and sorrow as it wasn’t until I think I was in high school that the powers that be understood that kids should not stand outside waiting for a school bus when it’s -70 wind chill. I can still feel that spine snapping, throat tightening zap of cold, those mornings brought. I was most fortunate to have survived the blizzards of 1979. I had planned to graduate a semester early from High School. Nope, not that I was a wiz kid or anything like that… it was pure self preservation. I loved high school… not the classes, not the learning; nope I loved the socializing… I knew that if I had a reduced schedule for the 2nd semester, more free time during the school day, I would really mess it up and possibly not graduate. So I’d love to say at this point that I buckled down and worked my ass off but, not so much. As the holidays approached, I somehow kept forgetting to go to class. I don’t really remember why but suddenly there was a letter home saying that because I ditched class I was being given 3 days of in-school suspension. Ok so what sense does that make? I hated Ms. Ienichner’s class so I ditched and then as punishment... I don’t “get” to go to her class for the 3 days before Thanksgiving. Oh darn! That really hurt. The cool thing was I had 6 hours each day to catch up on all the stuff I was falling behind in. I kept the pace up until the Christmas holiday break. I knew if I could skate through the 3 weeks after the holidays, I’d make it and graduate. We were slated to go back to school the first Monday of the New Year. However on Sunday we had the first of 2 or 3 major snow storms. Some crazy number of inches fell in record time. It was the wet heavy snow that causes all types of problem. The cleanup was slow, schools was closed for Monday and Tuesday. By Tuesday evening we were being hit with round 2 and schools were closed for the week. Friday the cleanup was progressing nicely until the next storm dumped 20 new inches of snow on top of the already dangerous amount on the ground. School was closed for a second week. But lightning didn’t strike a 3rd time and we went back to school for what should have been finals week. We were supposed to take our finals and then graduate the following Sunday. It was decided that finals for the general students were delayed 2 weeks. But they could not delay graduation. Some kids were registered for collage classes beginning the next week. So we were told to go discuss with our teachers our grades or what had to be completed to get a final grade. Bonus!!! I could so talk my way to graduation... and in some cases I did. Then came the wrinkle… I had never actually finished Freshman Biology and it had slipped through the cracks. I met with Mr. Oak… Mr. Oak was one of those guys that wanted you to think he was a jerk but in truth was a great guy who loved his wife, his kids and teaching. He told me I had to take the final the next morning and in order to pass the class; I basically had to get an A. I studied so hard but knew the odds were stacked against me. But I showed up bright and early. Mr. Oak approached me with a huge stack of papers. The room was set up with stations of slides and fetal pigs and other never needed in my lifetime before or since biology crap. I took my seat; Mr. Oak actually offered me a cup of coffee. It was meant as a reassuring gesture but it scared the heck out of me… He handed me the test packet and said to only turn it over when I was told to and he left the room. My head was spinning. I was supposed to give the benediction at graduation. I hadn’t started writing it and now I thought that might be a sign. I thought it was a sign that maybe I couldn’t write it because I knew deep down I wouldn’t be there to present it. After an eternity, Mr. Oak came back in the room. Turn the test over he said in his quirky voice…. Shaking, I turned it over… in big bold letters it said… Spell the word BIOLOGY. There was a #1 and a line for my answer. I wrote B-I-O-L-O-G-Y and turned the page. Nothing... not on that page or any of the other 15 pages. On the 16th page in Mr. Oak’s block penmanship it said... “You got an A... now go out and do the best you can to have a fabulous life”. I so clearly remember he walked over to me, kissed my cheek and said “good luck”. My heart was bursting, not because I had passed but because for one of the first times in my life I understood what it meant to truly enjoy, the joy of others. I knew how good he felt and that made me want to have that feeling too. In that moment I also knew just what I was going to say for the benediction. It took me about 15 minutes to write and a second to get the approval from Dr. Hoffman the Administrator. I’ve had this happen again recently. I had decided to do my husband’s eulogy. I felt I was the one who knew him best and it was my duty. I decided this very early Saturday morning after he had died just hours before. I had no idea if this was the proper thing to do or what I should say. I called the folks at the Pastoral care office at the hospital. They had been so kind. They gave great tips and provided some pointers that came in handy. But I still didn’t know what to write. I thought about it all day Saturday and Sunday… I couldn’t come up with anything. This was a rich, full and wonderful life my husband had shared with me and I couldn’t get a thought together to honor him. The service was scheduled for Tuesday. By Monday evening I was drained and couldn’t think clearly. I was so tired and sad and if I’m being honest, lost. I was about to let many people down, least of all was myself. I was feeling overwhelmed and decided I needed air. My house was so full of people who loved him and I needed to breathe and not talk about the past 4 days or the past 30 years. As I stood at the front door, the police officer who was with me as they tried to save my husband came around the garage. I was so relieved that he was there. I didn’t know why until later but for having just met this young man a few days before, I felt deeply connected to him. He was the only person in the world I didn’t have to explain to what had happened. As he came in I hugged him and felt myself exhale. We chatted and he met some of my family. I thanked him again and I will continue to thanks him as time goes on. He said something to me about me being awesome and if there was anything I needed, I actually don’t remember. What I do remember was that I got the same feeling I had years before on that most snowy day, with Mr. Oak. I had the feeling that this young cop knew he had made a difference when he was with me that terrible morning and he was proud to do it. As we said good bye with the promise of talking again I knew what I had to do… I had to honor the man I loved so deeply for so long by telling the world all the wonderful things about him they may not know. The journey we had taken together would be the cornerstone of his eulogy. I knew then that like Mr. Oak, my husband had taught me to bring out the joy in those around me. Like the young officer, my husband showed me how to care for someone I really didn’t even know but immediately connected with. What I had agonized over for 4 days… took about 20 minutes to write. I was proud of what I was able to express. I was able to open up avenues for others at the service to piggyback on and say what was in their hearts to say about him.
So I arrived home on that snowy night earlier this week and let my puppy out. She looked back at me as she stepped into the wet snow, possibly looking for some explanation. The she got excited and started jumping and playing and sliding. At one point she slid off the end of the deck and looked up at me as if I had done something to cause her to end up on her back. We played for a bit and went to bed. Very early the next morning she needed to go back outside, nature calls. As I opened the door… no snow? It was 43 degrees and there was no trace of the snow we had played in just a few hours before. For a moment I thought I was dreaming. But as the weather is here, I should not have been surprised. My pup was a bit disappointed. But she will learn that there will be storms of all kind that come in to and out of her life. Just as I have learned so completely that there are people who come into and go out of our lives. Some hang out for awhile… some leave before you are ready. I hope I give joy to those I meet and I take joy from our meeting. I think if I can do that more than not… I’ll be just fine.
I hope so…
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Wednesday 12/2/2009 Edna
Every day I am, as anyone in my situation is I believe, faced with things or people, maybe music or even a scent that reminds me so deeply of how my life has changed. But we are all in this same predicament. We, no matter our level of loss, have things around us that stir memories. This time of year for me is especially rich with memories. My friends, the professionals as I have called them before have talked with me about the power and the curse of memories. Emotions surfacing because of the holidays or the first snow fall or any number of things can be both joyous and devastating at the time.
This past weekend my incredible and wonderful middle sister came to play. We had no plans. We decided to do some shopping. We braved IKEA and enjoyed lunch at Chilies’. As we entered one of my favorite stores, Hobby Lobby, we walked down the Christmas tree aisle. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it. The tree was 7 feet tall with pinecones, snow, berries and lights. As I stood staring, my sister commented on how beautiful it was. In the back of my mind I kept hearing a voice asking me what I was planning to do this year for a tree. There was the old artificial tree down in the basement. But could I go back to that old thing after lobbying so hard for years to go back to a real tree? Then again… a real tree… the memories…
Our first real tree was specially selected by my husband up at the family hunting camp. Our trees for many years were carefully sought out and hand cut at the end of the week at camp. He would walk around the land looking for the perfect tree. He would spot the one he thought was, the one. If it was early in the week he would call me and tell me he thought he had found the best tree ever but he wasn’t 100% sure. I knew by the excitement in his voice that he was giddy with anticipation. He was always so proud of the tree he had presented to us. We switched to artificial trees during the years we were ensconced in travel hockey. I think we had traveled on more Christmases than should be allowed. Having the fake tree made it so much easier to not have to worry about taking it down before we left. Remember, I’m a firefighter’s daughter, always concerned about the Christmas tree fire. When we moved to my current home, we once again enjoyed the luster of a real tree. Although he no longer brought our tree home from up north, we would spend a day searching our local tree farms for the tree that touched our hearts.
So there I stood. Wondering if this was what I wanted to have in my home for the holidays. My first thought was of him balking at the price. Just a small surge of power went through me. Just as quickly, the feeling of being powerless flowed. Shouldn’t I do what we had always done? I’ve heard that the more you try to make something the same as it was, before your loved one died, the more it is obviously not the same. I thank God my sister was there. I don’t know if she saw how many times I tried to walk away from the tree. How many times my eyes filled with tears. My grown up mind was telling me it was just a tree. My heart was breaking at the thought of choosing a Christmas tree by myself for the first time in my entire life. I don’t know how long I stood there but I know that my sister was kind and patient and all a big sister should be. I bought the tree. We went home and rearranged the family room to accommodate the most beautiful tree in my world. I know she would never say anything but I wonder how awkward the silence was for her. We didn’t say much as we put the tree up. Oh we talked as we moved the couch here and the table there… but when we were doing the actual tree… it was quiet. I was so afraid that if I opened my mouth to speak I would loose control. To better explain what I was feeling and thinking about... my husband and I usually did not exchange gifts at Christmas. It began years ago when money was tight. So we designed our own celebration. Late Christmas eve, after the kids were in bed, we’d finish wrapping the gifts for the kids and stuff the stockings. When everything was complete, we’d turn off all the lights, except the tree and open a bottle of Asti. We would snuggle up close by the tree and then share our gifts with each other. Our gift was to fulfill one wish, just one for each other for the entire year. I remember one year, my wish was to not be reminded about how often I stayed at work way past the end of my shift. For the next year, he worked so hard not to call me out for working too hard. I remember the year he wished that I never question his love for me. He had had a stressful year and had at times brought those stresses home. So for the next year, I stepped back during conflicts just to be sure I remembered how much I knew he loved me. We continued this tradition until just last year.
So I’ve experience another “first”. I can’t determine how I feel having crossed yet another threshold. This week will be most interesting as I have a fairly major “first” about to happen. It will be the first time in 30 years he is not here on a special day. But I’ll get up on that day and go to work. I’ll remember how special I was always made to feel on this most special day. I will be celebrating my birthday without him for the first time since I was 19. I’ve had more birthdays with him… then not. I can’t help but look back on all the fun birthdays over the years. The surprises, the quiet evenings, the dinners out and all the other ways my husband helped me celebrate. A few years ago he told me one morning that he needed to borrow my car for the day. Odd as we had exactly the same vehicles, one just one year older than the other. But I took the bait and gave him the car. I mentioned the car trade at work that day and a colleague said something like wouldn’t it be terrible if he took it to have something like an automatic car starter installed? She went on to lament about how that was the worst gift and if a guy ever gave her something like that….blah, blah, blah. I kept thinking that would be a really cool gift. Lucky me, that is exactly what he had installed on my car as a birthday gift. I was thrilled and I to this day love that he thought that much about my comfort. I also every year, on my birthday and Mother’s Day received some form of the perfume I had been wearing since I turned 21. I feel so sad thinking about this past spring. He had so recently past and I was just about out of perfume. I went to Macy’s and as I stood there it hit me. I had never purchased my own perfume. My original scent was a gift from him. I know it sounds silly to say but this was his job, not mine. He would scour the newspapers for the Estee Lauder “freebie” and then make his purchases. I can almost picture him now, charming the sales girls. But he was always so excited about giving me something we both enjoyed. I’m not sure why this just popped in to my head but years ago, when I was just about to turn 16 or 17, my mom and I were having some common variety conflicts. A few days before my birthday she kept asking me what I wanted my cake to say… I think she was trying to make conversation but I was completely annoyed. Had she not been around for the past 16 or 17 years to see what previous cakes had said? Anyway, in an effort to be a smart ass and frankly shut her up, I said, “how about happy birthday Edna”? She gave me the mother of all killer mom looks and I very quickly left the room. As we celebrated that birthday, the cake was brought to the table as those around me half heartedly sang. As I looked at the cake I saw it… “Happy Birthday Edna”. In that moment, I clicked with my mom as I never had before. To this day, she often will call me Edna. I’m sure it’s her way of re-attaching our connection. I told that story to my late husband years ago. Every year, there would be three birthday cards from him. There was the funny card, the loving card and the card addressed to Edna that would be, how can I say it…the passionate card.
I’m flooded with the warmth of these memories. I’m proud that the bitter sweet in my heart is beginning to lean more to the sweet as the bitter begins to fade ever so slightly. I plan to enjoy the day and enjoy the tree. As I’ve said before, it won’t be the same but it can be just as good. I plan not to even try to make things as they were for either my birthday or the holidays. I believe if I did and I failed either myself or my families, it would hurt even more. So I’ll channel my inner Edna and enjoy the day.
I hope so…
This past weekend my incredible and wonderful middle sister came to play. We had no plans. We decided to do some shopping. We braved IKEA and enjoyed lunch at Chilies’. As we entered one of my favorite stores, Hobby Lobby, we walked down the Christmas tree aisle. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it. The tree was 7 feet tall with pinecones, snow, berries and lights. As I stood staring, my sister commented on how beautiful it was. In the back of my mind I kept hearing a voice asking me what I was planning to do this year for a tree. There was the old artificial tree down in the basement. But could I go back to that old thing after lobbying so hard for years to go back to a real tree? Then again… a real tree… the memories…
Our first real tree was specially selected by my husband up at the family hunting camp. Our trees for many years were carefully sought out and hand cut at the end of the week at camp. He would walk around the land looking for the perfect tree. He would spot the one he thought was, the one. If it was early in the week he would call me and tell me he thought he had found the best tree ever but he wasn’t 100% sure. I knew by the excitement in his voice that he was giddy with anticipation. He was always so proud of the tree he had presented to us. We switched to artificial trees during the years we were ensconced in travel hockey. I think we had traveled on more Christmases than should be allowed. Having the fake tree made it so much easier to not have to worry about taking it down before we left. Remember, I’m a firefighter’s daughter, always concerned about the Christmas tree fire. When we moved to my current home, we once again enjoyed the luster of a real tree. Although he no longer brought our tree home from up north, we would spend a day searching our local tree farms for the tree that touched our hearts.
So there I stood. Wondering if this was what I wanted to have in my home for the holidays. My first thought was of him balking at the price. Just a small surge of power went through me. Just as quickly, the feeling of being powerless flowed. Shouldn’t I do what we had always done? I’ve heard that the more you try to make something the same as it was, before your loved one died, the more it is obviously not the same. I thank God my sister was there. I don’t know if she saw how many times I tried to walk away from the tree. How many times my eyes filled with tears. My grown up mind was telling me it was just a tree. My heart was breaking at the thought of choosing a Christmas tree by myself for the first time in my entire life. I don’t know how long I stood there but I know that my sister was kind and patient and all a big sister should be. I bought the tree. We went home and rearranged the family room to accommodate the most beautiful tree in my world. I know she would never say anything but I wonder how awkward the silence was for her. We didn’t say much as we put the tree up. Oh we talked as we moved the couch here and the table there… but when we were doing the actual tree… it was quiet. I was so afraid that if I opened my mouth to speak I would loose control. To better explain what I was feeling and thinking about... my husband and I usually did not exchange gifts at Christmas. It began years ago when money was tight. So we designed our own celebration. Late Christmas eve, after the kids were in bed, we’d finish wrapping the gifts for the kids and stuff the stockings. When everything was complete, we’d turn off all the lights, except the tree and open a bottle of Asti. We would snuggle up close by the tree and then share our gifts with each other. Our gift was to fulfill one wish, just one for each other for the entire year. I remember one year, my wish was to not be reminded about how often I stayed at work way past the end of my shift. For the next year, he worked so hard not to call me out for working too hard. I remember the year he wished that I never question his love for me. He had had a stressful year and had at times brought those stresses home. So for the next year, I stepped back during conflicts just to be sure I remembered how much I knew he loved me. We continued this tradition until just last year.
So I’ve experience another “first”. I can’t determine how I feel having crossed yet another threshold. This week will be most interesting as I have a fairly major “first” about to happen. It will be the first time in 30 years he is not here on a special day. But I’ll get up on that day and go to work. I’ll remember how special I was always made to feel on this most special day. I will be celebrating my birthday without him for the first time since I was 19. I’ve had more birthdays with him… then not. I can’t help but look back on all the fun birthdays over the years. The surprises, the quiet evenings, the dinners out and all the other ways my husband helped me celebrate. A few years ago he told me one morning that he needed to borrow my car for the day. Odd as we had exactly the same vehicles, one just one year older than the other. But I took the bait and gave him the car. I mentioned the car trade at work that day and a colleague said something like wouldn’t it be terrible if he took it to have something like an automatic car starter installed? She went on to lament about how that was the worst gift and if a guy ever gave her something like that….blah, blah, blah. I kept thinking that would be a really cool gift. Lucky me, that is exactly what he had installed on my car as a birthday gift. I was thrilled and I to this day love that he thought that much about my comfort. I also every year, on my birthday and Mother’s Day received some form of the perfume I had been wearing since I turned 21. I feel so sad thinking about this past spring. He had so recently past and I was just about out of perfume. I went to Macy’s and as I stood there it hit me. I had never purchased my own perfume. My original scent was a gift from him. I know it sounds silly to say but this was his job, not mine. He would scour the newspapers for the Estee Lauder “freebie” and then make his purchases. I can almost picture him now, charming the sales girls. But he was always so excited about giving me something we both enjoyed. I’m not sure why this just popped in to my head but years ago, when I was just about to turn 16 or 17, my mom and I were having some common variety conflicts. A few days before my birthday she kept asking me what I wanted my cake to say… I think she was trying to make conversation but I was completely annoyed. Had she not been around for the past 16 or 17 years to see what previous cakes had said? Anyway, in an effort to be a smart ass and frankly shut her up, I said, “how about happy birthday Edna”? She gave me the mother of all killer mom looks and I very quickly left the room. As we celebrated that birthday, the cake was brought to the table as those around me half heartedly sang. As I looked at the cake I saw it… “Happy Birthday Edna”. In that moment, I clicked with my mom as I never had before. To this day, she often will call me Edna. I’m sure it’s her way of re-attaching our connection. I told that story to my late husband years ago. Every year, there would be three birthday cards from him. There was the funny card, the loving card and the card addressed to Edna that would be, how can I say it…the passionate card.
I’m flooded with the warmth of these memories. I’m proud that the bitter sweet in my heart is beginning to lean more to the sweet as the bitter begins to fade ever so slightly. I plan to enjoy the day and enjoy the tree. As I’ve said before, it won’t be the same but it can be just as good. I plan not to even try to make things as they were for either my birthday or the holidays. I believe if I did and I failed either myself or my families, it would hurt even more. So I’ll channel my inner Edna and enjoy the day.
I hope so…
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