Maybe I'm speaking too soon; it is only December 27, so we still have New Year's to contend with. And for those following the Advent calendar, we are only in the beginning of the 12 days of Christmas and have to get through Epiphany on January 6. Truth be told, we halfway observed Advent, but I didn't plan on anything beyond Christmas. Christmas Day starts the true celebration, because baby Jesus has arrived. The following twelve days of Christmas are marked by celebration and unadulterated joy at the babe's arrival. I'm not feeling it. I identified with the darkness of the waiting period much better.
But, I digress already. Caroline is three, so this is the first year she was really excited about Christmas. As another bereaved mother has said, Caroline is my greatest joy; not having Weston here is my greatest sadness. Seeing your child beside herself with excitement on Christmas Day is the height of parental joy. How does one reconcile the two?
The day started interestingly. As previously mentioned, I have not been reading the Bible at all. However, I have a Bible app on my iPhone that shows a verse of the day. I have not checked it in months. Well, somehow, the app got turned on Christmas morning, and here is what popped up as the daily verse:
Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. (Romans 5:3-4).
Wow. What's more, this was actually the verse for December 24, but it still showed up Christmas morning. God is definitely trying to get my attention. I think he has it now.
As far as the verse is concerned, I can say that I am persevering daily. I get out of bed, I put on a happy face for Caroline, and I try to be the best mother to her that I can be. We have had our share of struggles this year, but we have also shared some beautiful, priceless moments together, even since Weston died. I pray that it builds character and hope, but it is still too soon to tell in my mind.
It doesn't take much to make Caroline happy. She awoke to a plate of crumbs and an empty glass of milk, indicative that Santa came. Upon her discovery, she grinned ear to ear and kept repeating, "He did it! He did it!" Because she was the only child at Christmas, we didn't have/need much of a game plan for the day. As I have railed about here, we try to de-emphasize the commercialism of the Christmas holiday season. Partly because my and Shannon's family was spread out this year, Caroline only had a few presents to open on Christmas Day. At one point, I asked her if she wanted to open presents, and she said, "No. I want to color" (in her coloring book from her stocking). When she did finally open her presents, watching her do so, and then reading her new books, playing with her new puzzle, etc. was heartwarming.
Just look at this face!
Throughout the day, I was reminded that I am loved and not alone, and more importantly, that Weston was remembered. Family called, and friends sent texts or other messages to remind me of these truths all day.
Nevertheless, things got to me after a while. I got to the point where I knew a breakdown was imminent. It was either going to occur on a run or during Christmas dinner. I opted for a quick run, and I am grateful to my husband and mother who didn't say a word when I disappeared less than two hours before Christmas dinner. (I DID tell them where I was going, and I had cooked everything the day before.).
It was COLD: 27 degrees, to be exact. I ran in the snow, like I had on my previous run, and it was beautiful. Except for the big, happy family out sledding. They stopped for me as I ran up the long trail they were sledding on, and all I could do was glare at them as I ran by.
I stopped and did this:
And then the adventure started. I was going to make it home with about fifteen minutes to spare before Christmas dinner. My mom's house (where I grew up) is at the end of a long, windy dirt road. As I rounded the first curve, I saw a car stuck in the ditch. I happened to be driving Shannon's four-wheel-drive truck. Now, I can't remember if I have ever actually towed someone out of a ditch. We always had four-wheel-drive vehicles, so our family has usually been the tow-er, rather than the tow-ee. But I couldn't remember if I had actually pulled someone out or just watched.
But, I stopped and offered to tow them out. I told them I had no idea what I was doing, but there was a rope in the bed of Shannon's truck, so there you go. There were four of them: they were from Phoenix, driving a Honda sedan, and not dressed for the cold. Amateurs. Just kidding; I am from Phoenix myself, and the only reason I was somewhat dressed for the weather was because I had just spent the better part of an hour running in the snow. But one of the guys was wearing a bright orange t-shirt that said "WASSUP?" How could I not stop??
As we were tying the rope to their car, another car and two men materialized. They had an actual tow strap, and they also actually knew what they were doing. As it turned out, one of the other guys did the driving. I literally provided only the vehicle.
As I discussed here, I had requested that people do random acts of kindness in Weston's name for Christmas. Although I donated to some charities as part of our Advent observance, I had not actually done my own random act. So here it was. I literally drove into it.
And I wasn't even late for dinner, although I don't like the reason why. In addition to the place where the foursome got stuck (which my family has long called Dead Man's Curve), my mom's house is at the top of a long, windy, STEEP driveway. My grandparents tried to drive up, slid on the ice, and got stuck in the ditch. When they tried to call to have someone drive down and pick them up, they couldn't get cell phone reception. My grandparents are 85 years old. It was 27 degrees. My grandma was wearing sky-high heels. THEY WALKED UP THE ICY DRIVEWAY.
I walked up the driveway myself and saw the aftermath:
Contrary to the concerned looks on their faces, they did get the car unstuck.
Dinner went fine. And it was quite tasty. After dinner, the adults opened presents, and we assembled Caroline's big gift (a train set). That's when my emotions got to me. And the big, ugly meltdown happened. I think everyone in the house heard me sobbing, even though I left the room. Weston should have been there, with us. His absence was the single biggest constant presence of the day.
And my grief, the fact that my child is gone, and the fact that so many children are gone, was never far from me. I couldn't even escape with the local newspaper. First day: front page story on CPS issues. I have met the mother of one of the children discussed in the story. He died. Next day: front page story on a hospice-type home for sick kids. I know of a child who died there. But of course I have to keep that news to myself. Who wants to talk about such things on Christmas?
But we did get some random acts of kindness for Weston's stocking. In his honor, people were fed, a homeless woman made it to a shelter, a family was able to make ends meet, a lonely woman received visitors bearing baked goods, cold children were clothed, many lonely and poor children received Christmas presents, and miles were run to raise awareness for prematurity. It was humbling to hear how these opportunities to be kind presented themselves. And I'm probably forgetting some; I'm writing this from memory.
These heartfelt acts - not the shiny presents, not the tasty food, not the beautiful snow - but hearing about these selfless acts was the highlight of my Christmas. I don't know if Weston's card was necessarily used with all of them, but that doesn't even matter (although I LOVE it!). It is what life is about. I hope and pray that Caroline will grow up to value acts of kindness and generosity over presents and all the other stuff at Christmas. And why not think big? I wish EVERYONE with the heart, resources, and capacity to give would do so.
Weston was with us, all day. And, although slips of paper in a stocking and ashes in a necklace around my neck are a poor, poor substitute for my flesh-and-blood son, I am truly grateful and humbled that he has inspired people to do such beautiful things. I am discovering that the tragic ugliness of losing my son can be inextricably intertwined with beauty and goodness. The bad often overshadows the good. I am grateful (and surprised!) that, for much of Christmas Day, the good outshone the bad. But I am equally grateful when the bad is acknowledged and revered, even by God.
In The Brothers Karamazov, Dostoyevsky was being true to the spirit of the New Testament, which likewise seeks to establish God's goodness through a narrative rather than an argument, a revelation of his solidarity with human struggle rather than a philosophical proof of his benevolence.
In the same way, the only thing that my religious tradition has to offer the bereaved [ ] today - besides an appropriately respectful witness to their awful sorrow - is a version of that story, and the realism about suffering that it contains. That realism may be hard to see at Christmastime, when the sentimental side of faith owns the cultural stage. But the Christmas story isn't just the manger and the shepherds and the baby Jesus, meek and mild. The rage of Herod is there as well, and the slaughtered innocents of Bethlehem, and the myrrh that prepares bodies for the grave. The cross looms behind the stable - the shadow of violence, agony and death.
In the leafless hills [ ], this is the only Christmas spirit that could possibly matter now.
~Ross Douthat, The New York Times
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