A Christmas Healing

   Picture, if you will, a typical Hallmark Christmas Eve. Imagine yourself as an invisible observer, like Mr. Marley, peaking in on a gathering, from somewhere above. It has recently turned dark outside so the quaint lantern- like street lamps have just appeared, giving very little useful light, but a perfect ambiance to the evening ahead. On the door of the big old stucco home is a wreath with twinkle lights sparkling all around. The driveway and street around the home are full of vehicles as varied as the characters who drove them. Everything from a bright new BMW to a pick up truck held together by duct tape, wire, and the will of the driver. Oh yes, there is snow! The picture wouldn’t be perfect without it. And there’s a crispness to the air that causes the bundled participants to hunch over and walk as quickly as they can without slipping.  

   As each guest enters there is a renewed uproar. Children burst in the door first, followed by Mom carrying her contribution to the meal, followed finally by Dad, who will come through the door several times carrying gifts for all. Inside the house is as festive as the outside. The large tree is full of familiar ornaments denoting events from the past. Before the night is over familiar stories will accompany the ornaments as the past is repeated in a over rehearsed dialogue. Furniture has been moved to allow for the extra folding tables added to the end of the dining room table. It’s very important that all 24 guests sit at the same table, or this year 23 guests. There is no children’s table here. Candles and sparkling china and silverware grace the table. This is truly a scene worthy of Rockwell. Happy and perfect.  

   But, wait. Something is not quite right. Zoom in on Grandma. She looks so tired. She’s getting older so the work of pulling the perfect Christmas together is more difficult every year. But this isn’t a short term weariness. The circles all around her eyes, deepened wrinkles across her forehead. She seems smaller and shorter somehow. She’s Grandma, alright, but muted. Grandpa is tense. He stalks around Grandma like a watch dog, as if she is ready to fall any moment and he must be prepared to catch her. And Great Grandpa Henry, always so positive and happy, doesn’t get up to great the guests tonight, but stays in the big leather chair and allows the guests to come to him. He is nearly 90 years old, and tonight he appears to feel heavy and tired.

   Let’s watch as dinner is announced and the family sits down at the table. There is some jockeying for seats. The children all want to sit by Grandma. But Grandpa interrupts the turmoil and announces that Grandma will be sitting by him this time, so Grandma takes the chair next to him at the head of the table, although the youngest grandson has managed to squiggle in on her right. Great Grandpa Henry is carefully placed at the opposite end of the table.  

   And now, another figure, a spirit, joins the family, floating above the crowd, observing the tableau. It’s a man. He appears to be around 50 years old. He is very thin and sickly looking, although he is impeccably dressed in his slacks and cashmere sweater. He smiles at the familiar scene below, but there is a palpable sadness emanating from him.

   The family is not a religious one. This is not to say they aren’t spiritual. There are often conversations about one’s purpose in life, the need to look after those less fortunate, the importance of doing the right thing, and what happens after death. They are thinkers and feelers. Instead of saying grace at family gatherings, there is usually someone who would like to say something before the meal begins. This time it’s Great Grandpa Henry. Someone helps him to stand. His eyes, already ringed with red and tear filled, give a hint to the content of his message. “I would like to say a few words about my son, Mitchell.” He struggles to maintain his composure as he speaks about his feelings, something very rare for him. He talks about how Mitch lit up the room and included everyone, how he was genuinely kind and caring, his love for children. He suddenly stops, struggles within himself for a moment, and then, barely audible, says, “I lost him. I - me - I lost him. Two days ago, I couldn’t keep him with us.” He stands up straighter, his voice becomes louder and stronger, and he says “that’s all we need right now.” He sits down. The table is quiet. No one knows what to do or say, so they sit, still and silent.

   The youngest grandson, a five year old, feeling the solemnity of the occasion, turns and whispers to Grandma, “why is Grandpa Henry sad?” Grandma answers, “He’s sad because Mitchell died. We’re going to be very quiet and respectful right now for Grandpa Henry.” He responds, “I think we need to say the pledge of allegiance”. Grandma smiles and says in a hushed voice , “Go for it, honey”. So he stands up on his chair and says, in a very serious and commanding voice, “please stand for the pledge of allegiance.” Everyone glances around for brief moment, and then they all stand, put their hands on their hearts, and recite the pledge. Someone quietly says Amen, and everyone sits down. The moment passes, and life resumes. 

If you look around, you will see that the spirit is gone. But you can sense his presence in the hearts of the family below.

  Food is passed around the table and conversations begin. Laughter creeps in. There is a sense of a long held breath being expelled. The Grands all look less tense, relieved. Everyone realizes that the days ahead will be trying and difficult. There’s a funeral to plan, a burial to be done, and guilt and loss to be processed. But right now, in this perfect moment, Christmas is happening!