Come, All Ye Faithful

A year ago my friend was standing at a cargo counter of United Airlines, trying to persuade the man in charge to release the urn containing her husband's ashes. Sorry, he said, but he couldn't do it. Somebody somewhere had to sign off on it, and that somebody couldn't be found.

"It's Christmas morning, you know," he said.

"Yes," she replied, choking back tears, "I know."

From one year to the next, your life can be transformed -- ordinary to magical with the birth of a child, good to terrible with the death of a loved one.

Let's not kid ourselves, the holiday season is always tough, the shopping, wrapping and mailing. Despite President Bush's urging, spending feels unseemly this year because of our collective national grief.

Thousands in New York and Washington have lost loved ones. Thousands more Americans are far from home on active military duty, many of them involved in the war in Afghanistan. The threat of anthrax lingers. Terrorism shadows us. Unemployment is rising. Stores are half-empty. All is not calm, all is not bright.

That said, it is still a season for good will, a time to be extra generous, more understanding, kinder to one another. We feel a special warmth for the grocery checker who always says, "have a nice day," for the Federal Express driver who never fails to arrive, for the postmaster who had to don a mask and rubber gloves just to deliver mail, the neighbor who feeds the dog on late nights at work, the dentist who juggles his schedule to fix a broken filling. 

Advertising creates an artificial glow around at Christmas and Hanukkah, smearing Vaseline over the lens so we're portrayed as full of good cheer, with plenty to eat, surrounded by mountains of gifts, dressed in our best bib and tucker, always smiling. Nowhere in these pictures is there a hint of a family feud or dysfunctional relative.

Of course, none of us can solve the problems of the world. A day spent at the soup kitchen doesn't end chronic hunger. Drug abuse and crime don't take a holiday. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, but he can't visit if you're homeless.

This is the time to be a good elf and reach out to the neediest person nearest to you.

The most nostalgic of seasons also brings out the nobility in us. My friend the single mother, who cleans houses 60 hours a week and whose car is never running and whose phone is shut off more than it's on, has scrimped and saved to buy her 4-year-old son a little computer "so he can get ahead."

My 91-year-old friend plans to bake her usual pumpkin and pecan pies, carrot cake and cheesecake for her family's Christmas feast. This is her fourth Christmas without Charlie, her beloved of 66 years. "I talk to him every day," she said. "Nothing is the same, but I go on for the grandchildren."

And what of my recently widowed friend who spent last Christmas trying to reclaim her husband's ashes after a sad flight home to Virginia from Paris? This year, with Pierre's urn safely atop her desk in the cozy kitchen where they spent so many happy hours cooking and talking, my friend has made a last-minute Christmas decision.
"I've decided to put up a tree," she said. "I'm also going to try to put up the outside lights. It's time I learned to do these things for myself." Her bravery leaves me breathless.

All suffering from loss summon up their courage to face this most traditionally joyous and festive season of the year. My grieving friend believes it's better to lean into the pain, to remember the happy times, than to ignore them. "A wonderful past will have to get me through a difficult present," she said.

It is, after all, the past that we are celebrating -- a babe born 2,001 years ago in a manger, an even older lamp that shouldn't have had enough oil to keep burning, but did.

Since the beginning of the world there has been uncertainty, doubt and pain. Grief will always find us; Joy, we have to go looking for. May we each find it, and when we do, may it bring us peace.

© 2001 The Women Syndicate

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