What Do You See?

It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see.

I recently told someone that I try to finish all of my holiday shopping before Thanksgiving so that I don't have to listen to the Christmas music piping through the store speakers. I know that Christmas is a celebration. Next to Easter, it is the most glorious celebration we as Christians can part take in. But still, for me, the carols cause my heart to mourn - just a little at times, immensely at other points. Who among us has lost a loved one and fully felt right again during special occasions? Since my grandmothers died (they passed away within a week of each other), I have never felt quite the same. Each joyous event is tinged with just a hint of sadness, the unspoken acknowledgement of their absence.

It's impossible to celebrate the holidays without thinking of Christmas past. I have so many reminders constantly around me. Take my tree ornaments, for example. I have many that were either given to me by my grandmother, or used to belong to her, each one conjuring its own memory. I recall reading "The Little Match Girl" by Hans Christian Andersen every year on Christmas eve. My grandmother would cry every time she read the book. Then there is the large extended family Christmas party that we host every year. It originated in my grandmother's home, and has now become, in my opinion, not just a gathering of friends and family, but also a tribute of sorts to her legacy.

I remember many parties at my grandmother's house growing up. One year, when I was maybe 4, my mother was working third shift at the hospital and my grandmother put me to bed while the party was still going on. It was a very high bed that I shared with my mom, and after my grandmother returned to the party, I fell out of the bed and cut open my chin. I recall walking, bleary eyed, to the game room. I stepped up onto the hearth and grabbed a plastic cup that had been sitting on the mantle. I placed it under my chin to catch the blood, and staggered over to my grandmother. Recollections of rest of the evening come in snapshots. I remember a hospital room, my mom in her uniform holding my hand, and not much else. I ended up with several stitches on my chin. I still bare the scar! How's that for a Merry Christmas?!

Another year, I remember having a pinata at the party. I also remember opening one of the ornaments she gave me. It was a cat inside a mailbox, with candy cane stripes. I can picture the crowd of family members squished together on that ugly 1970's black and tan plaid couch that so many families had! Of course, Santa always made an appearance, as he still does (probably in the same costume!). Many of the memories are simply ones of general happiness and comfort, kind words being spoken, laughter, merriment, family as whole. Although, as I think back now, I realize that for the adults then, this same feeling of bittersweet nostalgia probably crept up, as they remembered the deceased loved ones who I never knew. I suppose it is simply the circle of life.

Christmas used to make me terribly depressed. I can remember times in early adulthood when I simply went through the motions, empty hearted. Since my children were born, the holidays have taken a much different turn. I can relive the childhood excitement through my boys. Also over the last 5 or 6 years, I have better grasped the enormity of the blessing of simply being a part of a family. I see many people who have little or no celebrations, and I realize then that my grandmother did a fantastic job of sewing her brood tightly together, a quilt of family that even death could not unravel. Nonetheless, I can't help but wonder how things would be different if my grandmother were still here. What would she think about Jacob and Andrew and my niece Ella, all gathered together? I imagine our holidays would be very different if she were still living, and even in the joy of the season, the grief of her loss can't help but be noticed.

This is where my opening quote comes into play. "It isn't what you look at that matters, it's what you see." I found this quote in my company newsletter. It was given by one of the parents that we serve, and it struck a chord. The holidays will never be the same. My grandmother will always be missing. I could choose to see an empty seat, an absence, darkness. Or I could look at the same room full of people, the same celebration and see her living legacy, as I stated above - a tribute to her love and dedication. I can see her likeness in my own mother, hear her laughter in my Aunt Carmen, remember the holidays past when I listen to my cousin Lucie's voice. Instead of being overcome by depression, I can view each moment as an opportunity to instill similar great memories in my own children's minds, so that when they are adults, whether my parents and I are alive or dead, they will be able to look out into their own family and see the love that transcends human limitations, the love that is truly God's gift of the season.