Remembering You at Christmas

I haven’t sent out Christmas cards in a while. It’s not that I don’t like to do it. It’s that the responsibility for it always fell on me, and I rebelled against that responsibility a few years ago.

This year I had every intention of taking a picture of Iz and Nathan for our Christmas card. The thing was that I could never seem to get the two of them together. When Iz was here, Nathan wasn’t. When Nathan was finally here, Iz was asleep. I was a greeting card failure where I had previously just been a greeting card Scrooge.

Just then I regrouped. I could still take a picture of Nate and Iz. I would just sent out New Year’s cards instead of Christmas cards. Way to be creative on top of being creative, Jean!

Anyway, yesterday morning, I looked at the stack of unopened Christmas cards on the table. Yes, if I didn’t open them, they would not get opened; apparently, Christmas cards must be a "fuss" to open. Trying to avoid vacuuming for another 10 minutes, I sat down and started opening each one.

I noticed a very familiar name and address in the corner of one envelope. It was from my next-door-neighbor, Susan. Susan lost her mother, her only remaining parent, in June.

Susan had never sent me a Christmas card before, so I opened it with anticipation. The picture on it showed one girl pulling another girl on a sled. It was quite lovely and a bit art imitates life in other ways.

I opened the card. Its greeting said quite simply yet quite beautifully, “Remembering you at Christmas.” I closed the card and looked back at the picture again. Understanding Susan’s loss all too well, I looked at the picture thinking how I tried to help pull Susan along through her grief and sorrow.

I opened the card again. At the top of the card was a handwritten note. It said, “Thank you for helping me through the passing of my mother. I still have a long way to go (as this time of year keeps proving), but it helps to know you are there.”

This was the first Christmas where it felt like even if I received no presents, I would still be happy. Like Susan, Christmas reminded me of loss; however, spending time with Iz, Nathan, Suze, Cathy, Melissa, Brenda reminded me that I had some very wonderful people in my life. I was not alone, and these relationships far outweighed shoes, lipstick, or a Barack Obama chia pet head.

Though Susan and I didn’t see each other a lot, we seemed to see and be with each other when it was needed the most. I had gone with her to put her cat, Pumpkin, to sleep. More recently, I had been there when she lost her Mom.

As I previously stated, if it wasn’t already obvious according to statistics, the holidays can be a difficult time, especially if you’re missing family. I read Susan’s note again. Immediately, a thought came to mind; it was “flowers!”

I went off to do my last-minute errands, knowing I’d stop at the florist last. While out, I tried to find an angel ornament for Susan’s tree. Just so you know, no one seems to make a decent angel ornament; well, at least, no one at the mall does!

A bit disappointed, I left the mall with everything I needed except something special for Susan. I stopped at my favorite florist, and I picked up a dozen white and red roses. I guess some might think me extravagant for going to such an effort, but having known how it felt to be Susan this Christmas, I needed to pull her through the snow on that sled again.

When I got home, I saw that Susan wasn’t home. Later I tried to call, but the line was busy. Concerned I might miss her if she was not spending the evening at home, I decided to walk over and knock on her door.

I picked up my flowers, sniffed them, and put them down by the front door. I caught a glimpse of my tree in the living room, and I decided to go in and sniff it, too. Was it just me or was Christmas a major “scratch and sniff” holiday?

I looked at the ornament that my Mom had given me before she died. The mother cat, holding her baby cat, looked so at home nestled in the branches as she had been for the last 18 years. I touched her, and we both smiled at each other.

I ran upstairs to do something quick. I ran back downstairs, picked up the flowers, and told Nathan I’d be home in a few minutes. He grunted, “Okay.”

Susan’s front door is about 50 yards from mine. Within a minute, I knocked on her door. It appeared that she was at home; however, she didn’t answer the door.

I knocked again. The door opened, and she was holding the phone to her ear. She saw the flowers, smiled, and said to the caller, “Hey, can I call you back in a few minutes?” She got off the phone, and I handed her the flowers.

She thanked me and said, “Come in,” and I followed her into her living room. She then looked down at my feet, laughed, and asked, “You came over her barefoot?!”

I’ve lived in New England all my life. It was cold outside, but it wasn’t really that cold. Okay, it was cold; however, I think the two glasses of present-wrapping wine helped acclimate me to my frigid climate.

I asked her how she was doing. She told me that it was tough and that many people around her didn’t understand how tough. I said, “Try to surround yourself with the people who understand when you're feeling sad. There are many who do.”

I then said, “I have something else for you.” I pulled out a present wrapped in pink tissue paper, and I then told Susan a very short story. She opened it, saw the mother kitty holding the baby kitty, and I said, “Remember, Susan. A mother’s love is forever.”

She said, “I can’t take this.” I said, “Please do. My Mom’s been gone for 18 years, and I still miss her. But, this Christmas, I think you need this on your tree more than I do. I’m pretty sure my mother would have felt that way, too.”

She went over to her little tree. She asked, “Are you sure?” I said, “Yes. Hang it up.”

She did. Then I told her I should go, as I still had another glass of wine’s worth of presents to wrap. We hugged each other through damp eyes.

When I got home, I glanced into my living room. My tree still looked beautiful. I would always be missing something, but surely it wouldn’t be anything on my tree.

I wanted to avoid present wrapping for another 10 minutes, so I turned on the TV. As usual, when the TV came on, I could tell that Iz was the last person viewing. Handy Manny greeted me.

Within in ten seconds of sitting down on the couch, Handy Manny said, “Helping our friends and neighbors is what Christmas is all about." It seemed that this Christmas the greatest gift I could give was one of love. I'm now going to type something I never thought I would; right on, Handy Manny! ♥

Merry Christmas, everyone! ♥