For Dad, our Christmases held all the magic, the opportunity and the pleasure he missed as a child of the Depression. The tree was front and center, presents were many, stacked high; gifts of the heart and traditions like giant candy canes, Andes candies and Lifesaver Storybooks for each child, fudge for me, cherry cordials for Mom. He could make a million presents out of small nothings. And there was nothing he liked better than playing Santa on Christmas morning as we - one at a time - opened presents, ate cinnamon rolls and smelled the turkey cooking.
Although he has been gone now for fifteen years, Christmas is such a cherished time for me that in sixty-two years I have never missed being home for the holiday.
But I'm having trouble finding my holiday heart this Christmas.
A few short weeks ago an old acquaintance lost his miserably brief encounter with glioblastoma. And among our LiveStrong family, one has this month gone into hospice, one will be leaving us as I write, for one we have moved the Christmas gifts to this weekend and three are in that awful "suspect I am about to need hospice" place.
Elizabeth Edwards, Aretha Franklin, Ron Santo...this week alone.
My head knows I should grieve and then return to the fight with renewed determination. My head knows that allowing cancer to destroy even more of life than it already has gives it power it should not have. My head knows that honoring those who lived with cancer and are gone means living without quiting. My head knows that withdrawing from my life dishonors those who had no choice. My head knows that failure to use my rage and despair to change the course of this insidious disease is failing to dignify the long and painful journey of others.
My heart knows sorrow, grief, anger, bitterness and wrath - the violence of which pushes holiday spirits aside.
A still, small voice of reason reminds me that as the children glow with awe and anticipation, as quiet comfort is shared by family and friends, as the season's songs echo sweet refrains, as hope for a finer future arises; weariness will recede leaving room for the holiday spirit to once more inhabit my heart.
Maybe not yet, but surely.
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3 comments:
Oh Marcia,
I know what you're writing about. The beauty of getting older has a double edge - we have now lived long enough to (in my case) have survived my cancer I am here to witness all the others. What I've found is that writing about the shared grief, talking about it w/co-survivors and survivors, is the best thing we can do.
As time goes on, I find it easier and easier to remove the Norman Rockwell holiday face. I can't get into jazzing myself up this year. This doesn't mean I won't enjoy the holidays, but yes, with so much suffering around, I'm aware of the rest of the world around me. Perhaps this is as it should be, since it amplifies my gratitude AND my desire to reach out to others.
Thank you for a lovely post,
Jody
I feel you, Marcia: It is indeed really difficult to keep the Christmas cheer going this year. Wish I knew what the answer was!
Dear Marcia,
Sometimes our heart and our head don´t see eye to eye and that is ok. Events can lead to that and you should take the time to work through them. Knowing you I´m confident your heart and head will be in sync again very soon and you´ll be back in full swing fighting this disease (because both your heart and your head say so). And when that happens the holiday spirit will find its way back into your life. Wishing you an amazing Holiday season, big hug Annemieke
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