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What we wanted in the first place can burn inside us for the rest of our lives.
This is my Christmas story text.
My dog was waiting for me outside the gym and we walked home from school together. There was a lot of love in my house, but the tension was palpable as many of them fell short of their goals. I could feel it becoming I remember coming home expecting what kind of explosive shape the thickness would take.
Somehow I took on the task of making sure everyone in the house was safe. Ability to detect tears falling next to I don’t remember being very good at anything else at that age. School was a place where I felt incompetent at almost everything. I had ADD, but no one knew what it was at the time.
One year my mother brought home 45 recordings from Santa Claus. There was a swirl around the hole in the middle, and it had a hypnotic quality to it as the record whirled round and round. Santa greeted me cheerfully and she began to loudly worry about my forgetfulness and lateness. Will it be known as the “Speedy Brown of Germantown” next year? Which local outfit set the record, I can only guess.
My mother went all out for Christmas. She created elegant decorations that transform her first floor of her home into a wonderland. Later, my dad had to bring in a huge tree, cut off the top, and wire it up to keep it upright. Cropped after my brother and I went to bed on Christmas Eve. What a frenetic night it must have been. A huge tree is hung with lights and decorated. Meanwhile, all presents were hidden. I also had to figure out what needed to be assembled. And all these voices were too soft to be heard upstairs.
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The morning will be magical. What we all wanted was possible and it lasted for hours: material bounty and peace on earth. No. Instead, it was a constant eruption of trial-and-error efforts. After that, it was all toys, and I was playing on the second floor near my ear. I remember being in my late 70s and learning for the first time how tragic the world was and how wonderful people couldn’t be happy living in the same house.
Many years later, on Christmas night, we helped my wife’s mother die. She had cancer and she didn’t want to die alone looking up at the ceiling of her hospital. She had everyone around her and fought like a tigress to stay. The hours of her struggle dragged on into the night and I watched her turn the clock back over and over. Never in my life have I seen love expressed so clearly. It was her gift.
There are moments when everything that is unreal turns into a spider web of smoke, and what is actually solid stands out clearly. And having been privileged to see this, I can say that only love is real, albeit for a short time. We give our hearts to things that are fleeting and passable, but what we love in ourselves and what is loved in others is part of the enduring. Acting accordingly is our life task.
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My mother and father worked things out before my mother died. It was a gift we gave each other while we still had time. There is something sad about all this.We know in our hearts that we are right next to this life — even better, yes inside This life — this sweeter, more illuminated life. For many of us, we believe that vision comes closest to Christmas.
What is that hope? So that I can start living like a blind person, where I can almost trace the outlines with my fingers. Even if it distracts me, I think I want it more than anything else.
Lawrence Brown is a columnist for the Cape Cod Times. Please send an email to columnresponse@gmail.com.
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