It was Christmas morning and Lynne and I were sitting in front of the fireplace. When we built our house we installed a very nice fireplace and this morning it was quite cozy. We sipped our coffee as we talked and the conversation gravitated to the past year or so. It seemed to go from remembering to remembrance. Different things came to mind and certainly we recreated the last Christmas which we spent with Josh and Anna and the grand kids, Ethan and Kate in Dallas. We remembered how the world kept crumbling around us as Josh's condition deteriorated and how it crashed the morning he died. This was our first Christmas without him. Yes it was a tearful remembrance there in front of the fireplace. As the remembering continued we talked about the present - phone calls from family - my health - how that was going - how in one year the entire landscape of our life had been razed by cancer like the fires that razed the forests of Texas this year. Gradually we began wondering how things would go and what would be out there to greet us in the new year. What else could go wrong? New Year? That had always seemed to be a title with promise and hope. Now I feel like just calling it the next year. Sometimes it is hard to be hopeful. This was one of those mornings. Even a baby in a basket of hay did not seem to hold much sway over the tide before us.
There seemed to be something holy in that time when I think back on it. In the remembering, as Frederick Buechner says, we come out on the other side with the idea that we are survivors. We're not always sure how we made it through, but make it, we did. And make it we did, past that first Christmas. We had visited the Christmas last year and all the shadows inherent in that story and we survived like some hand had guided us through it. We had been dreading the first year of anniversaries. We have also visited the clouds that hang over the present that seem to shroud what lies ahead but I will come back to that.
There is another story I want to interject, if I may? Silly me. Of course I may. I'm writing it. A few weeks ago I had an extremely vivid dream and in this dream we had just come back to our place and as we were there it was like the whole place had been changed. On one side of our acreage were some new homes and along another side were some condos and our house was gone. I was yelling at the people, "What are you doing here? This is our place. When did this happen and where are the horses?". And frantically I was looking for the title to prove this was ours. And every one looked at me with a stunned look on their face. They had no idea who I was. I had told them who I was. I assured them I would be back and get this straightened out. I was furious. It was like this place of ours was gone and any remembrance of us was gone as well. New people now lived their lives where we once lived ours. Everything we had put into this place was gone and there was not a shred of evidence here that we had ever lived here or been here. It was awful and it was a feeling of total helplessness. So when I woke I looked around to see where I was. Ah, it was sooo, so good, to wake up and be in our little chalet that our family and friends helped build and feel the memories again.
The haunting of this dream and our talking and thinking about Christmas reminded me of Charles Dickens', "A Christmas Carol", and Kate, that's what prompted me to read the story. All the ghosts, the shadows of the past, the clouds over the present, and the haunting of forgottenness in the future, all of these make me sit up take note like an Ebenezer.
What I have experientially come to realize is this. I have only the present in which to live. I have only today. I have intellectually always known that. That's all, any of us really has, but that's your story. I speak here only of mine. I have tried to finish this story and have backed up some half dozen times leading me to believe this one has not yet an ending, or at least one that I can put into words. So today I will keep living and cherish this day. If and when an ending comes I will construct it with words and pass it on.
No comments:
Post a Comment