Out of the Blue, Embracing the New

Trigger Warning: car accident, grief, child loss

Everyone knows that Christmas can be a lonely time for some people. Claire had never considered that she might find herself to be amongst the “some people” some day. She had grown up as part of a large extended family. She was the oldest of two girls, with aunts and uncles as well as five cousins living nearby. So, in her youth, her home had always been a hive of activity, with plenty of gatherings and social happenings. Christmas had always been a time for family and traditions. 

Reminiscing about family traditions, Claire pulled her single box of Christmas decorations out of the closet. Despite the lack of family nearby, she was determined to make the best of the season this year.

Making the best of the season meant decorating her small cottage as festively as possible. She had decided to do this at the very beginning of December, to enjoy her efforts for as long as possible. 

So here she was on December 1st, lifting the lid of the box and opening the gates to yesterday. Immediately, she was bombarded with a stream of memories so vivid that she could almost touch, taste, hear, see, and smell every aspect of Christmases past.

The flood of memories fed her heart, not only with the nourishment of the good and the healthy but also with the devastation of the bad and the tragic. Between the joyous years of childhood and the reality of now, a lot had happened to change not only how she celebrated Christmas, but also how she lived life.

Pulling out her favourite decoration, Claire was overwhelmed by an immense sense of loss. This small, quilted, red heart had hung in her window ever since THAT year, the year when her world had changed forever; the year she became an orphan and a widow at the very same instant in time. 

It often crossed her mind that becoming an orphan might not be the most exact term to describe what had happened in late January of that year. But concentrating on that word meant that she could avoid dwelling on the rest of it.

Before that year, the one that separated her life into the before and after times, things had seemed perfect in her world. She had had a flourishing career and a beautiful condominium that she and her husband had bought five years earlier. She had been married to her high school sweetheart, William. At thirty, she had felt that life was looking good. With hard work and love, her dreams were coming true. 

But her dreams had come crashing down in an instant. A senseless single vehicle accident had claimed not only both her parents but also her husband. And there really was nobody to blame except Mother Nature who had blanketed the remote highway in a coat of black ice right on a bend. The wall of rock was unforgiving and only took a slight scrape that, for those who knew what to look for, was still visible to that day. The mark of tragedy may have only grazed the rock, but it had scarred Claire’s heart forever. 

Forever is a long time. So far, for Claire, it had been twenty years and counting. And in those twenty years, Claire had devoted her life to her career. She had networked and she had diversified her skills, and she had made a lot of money. She knew a lot of people and she was good at what she did in the world outside of her home. 

On the outside, Claire seemed well-adjusted, personable, successful, and content. She had friends and even dates, but never another committed relationship. She attended social events on a regular basis, and she had lots of meetings with clients. 

But, on the inside, Claire had been suffering. She lived a quiet private life at home, never inviting people in. Her residence for twenty-five years was the condominium she had bought with her husband. It was a place of precious memories and her personal security blanket, but she had come to realize that it had also been her prison.

This year, Claire had sold that place, downsized, moved across the country, and was now renting a small cottage in a rural area while deciding whether to stay on the west coast or move elsewhere. 

So far, three weeks later, the move had been liberating. Some might say lonely too now that she was working from home and far away from all her social and business connections. But lonely is a state of mind and Claire was no longer lonely. Back east, despite a busy work and social life, Claire had been lonely in her condo and in that loneliness, she had invested in her collections. Some people, had they known, might have called her a hoarder. For decades, Claire had accumulated stuff in the pursuit of fulfilment that she never could find. Like many collectors, she thrived on the hunt. 

It had started with a collection of cats, not the living creatures, but the cute decorative type found on mugs, hand towels, notepads, ornaments, and t-shirts. After the cats came the penguins, also found on mugs, hand towels, notepads, ornaments, and t-shirts. Adding to the cats and the penguins, Claire continued to collect items relating to frogs, owls, teddy bears, ocean life, and so much more.

Claire knew that her habit of creating collections was more than a hobby, more like an obsession. She knew that most people had spare rooms and not rooms devoted to collections. She knew that although her house was clean and did not have piles of garbage or impassable hallways, it was not typical to have so much stuff. And this was why she invited nobody in.

She did not want to hear the opinions of others on how to live. She did not want to hear people ooh and aah over her cute belongings only to shake their heads once they were out the door or, worse yet, talk about her behind her back. She did not want her sanctuary of home to be ridiculed or up for discussion in the circles within which she moved. 

And so, she shut out the world. She closed off her home and her heart. She had had five amazing years in the condo with William, but after he was gone, she spent the next fifteen years collecting. Then, during the last five years she had started to question her choices. While stuck in her habits and lifestyle, a sense of emptiness had been creeping in. 

So, last January on the twentieth anniversary of the accident, Claire woke up longing for more. If asked, she could not name one single trigger that set in motion the ensuing nine months of a frenzied upheaval as she embraced change like never before. She was tired of the monotony of blue and the failure to find joy in material things. She yearned for change.

Claire called a counsellor and attended weekly sessions. She talked about her losses and her lifestyle and her longings. And she decided to sell off or donate most of her possessions and live with less which might mean more in the end. She also decided to move to the west coast where the winters were milder.

And so here she was now, living with less stuff and knowing nobody in this small community with its forests and lakes, and the ocean a short drive away. Claire knew that here she could get out and enjoy nature all year round. She felt hopeful for the coming year, for her new beginnings. But while looking forward, she was also drawn back to the past, especially the biggest part of her past that had shaped her life for twenty years. 

Claire was contemplating all that had happened that devastating year, two decades ago, as she continued to take out the decorations and set them up around the place.

When Claire discovered her Christmas CDs, she joyfully played them. In fact, she cranked them as loudly as she could. With no shared walls, she could play her music as loud as she could tolerate and louder than she had in years.

She sang along to “The Little Drummer Boy”, her mom’s favourite, and “White Christmas”, her dad’s favourite. And when “Last Christmas” was playing, she fondly remembered the times with her husband. But for the first time in years, she did not shed a tear. This was her time to change the course of her future and, as such, her grief although not forgotten needed to be packaged up and placed where it belonged, on a shelf off to the side in her mind. 

Claire had hope for this Christmas. She was determined to make it the best Christmas possible, perhaps not the best one ever because nothing could compare to those times in her youth. Back then, the joy of Christmas never stopped. And even as a teenager, it was hard not to believe in the magic when surrounded by all the surprises and the gatherings, the good food and the loving people. The music would play in the background as the bustle of the season with all its gift-giving, treat-eating, and merry -making unfolded, accompanied by loving laughter and family fun. 

For so long, Claire had spent Christmas Day alone, or at the homes of friends who invited her so she would not be alone. There were also the years when she spent it with doting and not so doting boyfriends. There was nothing quite like spending Christmas with someone to help decide whether they could be a life partner. Christmas traditions, favourite festivities, and the giving of gifts helped to determine and, most often, shorten the length of her relationships. 

Truth be told, whilst Claire had some very enjoyable Christmases with some interesting and interested men, none of them compared to William. 

William had been her soulmate, her everything, her world. He had understood her more than she had understood herself. Even when they had nothing, he had given her all that she needed. And, most preciously, he had given her the promising gift of becoming a mother. Little Liam would have been 20 now, all grown up. But Little Liam had never had the chance to take his first breath. He also had died in the accident, along with all hopes of any future offspring. 

And that was the part of the memory that Claire preferred not to think about. How she had survived but the baby she was carrying and the part of her body in which he had been developing were gone due to the life-saving surgery she had endured after being airlifted to a critical care unit. 

Claire did not remember the accident, only the aftermath. She had little memory of the two months after the accident either. The first month she spent in a coma in hospital and the second month she might as well have been in a coma for all she could remember. 

But she remembered the months and the years of grief, a constant companion. She remembered the guilt and the denial. She remembered the second guessing of her own decisions. She remembered the loneliness. And she remembered how the initial reassurances that it was not her fault turned into some questioning from her sister. Why didn’t you drive? You knew that road better than William. Are you sure he wasn’t speeding? Why didn’t you leave earlier? Why didn’t you stay the night? 

Also made an orphan on that fateful night, Claire’s sister, Jackie, had hovered between states of caring and stares of accusing, depending on the wave of grief that she was riding. Claire could not lean on Jackie because they ran the risk of either drowning together by pulling each other under or being held under by the other, gasping for air until the depths of their grief overwhelmed them. 

Mostly for self-preservation, the sisters had drifted apart. Jackie had married her high school sweetheart and moved across the country. They had stayed in touch through phone calls and emails, as well as texts and video calls more recently, but they had not seen each other in sixteen years, not since their grandmother’s funeral. 

When their lives had been broken like vases dropped to the floor, their grandmother, Mom’s mother, was the glue that ever so delicately held them together until she had died sixteen years ago, causing the glue to give way and the cracks to crumble. It was the same grandmother who had made each of them a quilted heart that first Christmas. 

Claire now held the quilted heart in one hand and stroked it gently with the other, like a person might pet a small animal, trying to calm it before it jumps out of their hands. 

For twenty years, Claire had followed this routine with the quilted heart before placing it in the window where she could see it from indoors or outdoors. 

Through her counselling sessions Claire had discovered that although she was a collector of many things, only certain things were truly treasures. It had been a gruelling nine months of soul-searching and downsizing to rid herself of many possessions that had caught her eye once upon a time but were in fact meaningless. And so, she had one box of Christmas decorations. In fact, she had moved with the one box rule. One box for Christmas decorations, one box of clothing for each season, one box of dishes, one box of cooking utensils, one box of special mementoes, and so on.

In the end, her one box method had amounted to one medium sized moving van of stuff. Collector Claire was now a not quite minimalist in a two-bedroom cottage that was pleasantly furnished but not overrun by stuff. With weekly video meetings with her counsellor, Claire hoped to continue to work towards some personal goals. Freedom from possessions was a start, and so was this big move across the country, which her counsellor had tried to persuade her to delay.

As Claire hung up the quilted heart, she caught a glimpse of the lake at the bottom of the road. This was a beautiful landscape, serene. Claire felt that here she could heal. While she was standing there, a neighbour walked by and waved to her in her window. 

Claire waved back and smiled as she recognized the neighbour, Jean, who she had met a couple of weeks ago. Old Claire would never have been in the window in her condo in the city. She would have never been waving at the neighbour. But new Claire, not only waved, but also signalled the neighbour to wait a moment. She grabbed a dish from the kitchen, moved to the front door, and opened it, calling out, “Thank you for the casserole. It was delicious.” She held out the dish as she slid on her shoes and walked up the path towards Jean. 

Claire was not ready yet to invite Jean in, but she was working towards it. So, two weeks later, when Jean invited Claire to join her on her walk, Claire took her up on that offer. After all, Claire had never had problems making friends or joining in social activities. In fact, she enjoyed small talk and getting to know people. So, after a few visits at Jean’s house, Claire took the plunge and invited Jean over for a coffee.

Jean admired the Christmas decorations on display in Claire’s living space and especially the quilted heart in the window. Claire told her it was a special decoration and that she would tell her the story behind it at a later date, knowing that it would be much later if ever.

With Christmas just days away now, Jean invited Claire to join her at her house for Christmas dinner. Jean lived with her husband but would also be joined by her newly divorced brother and his two children who lived in the nearby town. Claire willingly accepted this invitation to enjoy a family Christmas dinner, something she had not experienced for a long time. Her own cousins and their families had spread out across the country over the years.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, Claire decided to video call her sister, a day ahead of their traditional Christmas morning call. As they talked, Claire could see Jackie’s quilted heart hanging in her window behind her head, the ribbon glistening in the sunlight. 

Later that day while out for a walk, Claire missed a phone call from Jackie who had subsequently sent a text. Surprisingly, Jackie had invited Claire to join them on an overnight visit for New Year’s Eve and Day. Now that Claire had moved, she was only a two-hour drive from her sister. 

Accepting the invitation would mean meeting her nieces and nephews for the first time in person, all four of them in the eight- to fifteen-year-old age range. 

Claire’s heart nearly skipped a beat. Before replying she looked up to see the ribbon on her quilted heart glistening in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window. 

Claire was ready to ring in the new.