Christmas Thoughts, Year 1

Christmas, 2005

To be honest, I have been a little baffled about why I am happy during this season. I thought that every day would be awful, full of longing and reminders of who and what is missing. The strange thing is that I am enjoying all of the small joys of Advent, and the days leading up to Christmas. I have been wondering why, and I can only think of a couple of things.

Last year at this time, we were suffering terribly. Katie was miserable in between rounds of chemo, and the last rounds were the worst. She needed medication around the clock to help her feel just "okay," and to control nausea, as well as 2-3 injections a day, and was only interested in watching TV and movies. We were all living in one small room at Ronald McDonald House, when she wasn't in the hospital: two queen-sized beds and a window-seat/bed, a table, two chairs, a TV/VCR/DVD player and (thank goodness) our own bathroom. David and I went shopping with my sister, Debbie to buy a wreath and 2 small (fake) trees, lights and decorations that the kids could make their own, and place on the windowsill of our room. Katie wasn't interested enough to finish hers. She skipped all of the opportunities at RMcD House to join in festivities, such as making gingerbread houses, caroling, a photo session with Santa or taking a holiday cruise. She just felt too awful. If you have ever loved someone who is suffering, you know that all who love and care for her suffer with her; that is compassion. It was a really hard time for all of us, especially since Katie and David LOVE Christmas.

The week of Christmas itself, Katie was an inpatient finishing a 5-day round of chemo; she spent Christmas Eve and Christmas morning in the hospital. I was with her, while Gregg stayed at Ronald McDonald House and visited us daily. We encouraged David to go home and spend Christmas with Uncle Charlie and Auntie Cheri, and to be with his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. The Gerstenbergers really know how to celebrate Christmas, and we wanted David to be surrounded by that familiar love and joy. He did go, and he had a great time, but it was hard on all of us to be separated.

This year, we have enjoyed being in our own home, going to choose, cut and decorate a real tree again, hanging lights, making treats with Taylor, and (for me), spending quiet time praying with the Advent devotional readings. I love Advent; having been brought up as a Christian Scientist, I didn't know about Advent, and it was a revelation and a joy to me. The light and anticipation that are intrinsic to the season are helping me to deal with the darkness of the days and the strangeness of experiencing our first Christmas without Katie. Last year she was with us in body, but not in spirit, because she was suffering so much. This year, she is not with us in body, and I assume that she is not suffering any more; I feel she is free, and that is what I pray for her. I do not say "I know," because I cannot KNOW; I can hope and pray and feel, and that is going to have to be enough, for now. So I am thankful and joyful for what I have, and I will continue to love my girl with all of my heart. I wish she were here with us, enjoying Christmas, wearing her Santa hat with David...but she is not.

I found this poem in Elisabeth Kubler-Ross's book, On Death and Dying:

In desperate hope I go and search for her in all the corners of my room; I find
her not.
My house is small and what once has gone from it can never be
regained.
But infinite is thy mansion, my lord, and seeking her I have come
to thy door.
I stand under the golden canopy of thine evening sky and I lift
my eager eyes to thy face.
I have come to the brink of eternity from which
nothing can vanish--no hope, no happiness, no vision of a face seen through
tears.
Oh, dip my emptied life into that ocean, plunge it into the deepest
fullness. Let me for once feel that lost sweet touch in the allness of the
universe. - TAGORE, from Gitanjali

Tofino, BC, about a week after Katie's Celebration of Life

Christmas Card Thoughts...in October

I have been thinking about Christmas. Christmas in October?, you may ask. Yes, because this is the time of year when I begin gathering ideas for gifts, and more fun than that, I go through the photos of the past year in search of a great one for our Christmas card. Sometimes it doesn't get taken until November, as a number of them were: we would take a photo in Palm Desert during the Thanksgiving holiday with Grandma and Kappa.

This was a challenge last year, as we were in the hospital with Katie and at Ronald McDonald House. The kids were heartbroken to miss the annual trip to the Desert. Getting a good photo of the four of us was impossible, since Katie had lost her hair and refused to cooperate with any family photo. Instead, I went to a file of photos that had been taken by a professional in May, 2006, before Katie got sick, when the kids were hoping to start modeling/acting. I chose one of David and Katie, and made it into a sort of "thank you-Merry Christmas" card.

This year, it is a heartbreak. We have one really good photo of the four of us, taken at Andrea and Mike's wedding, 2 weeks to the day before Katie passed away. It's the only family shot that we have from 2007. The problem is, Katie doesn't look as pretty as I KNOW she would want to in the picture, and I think it would make her mad if we use it. On the other hand, this is the last year that we will have a shot of the four of us, so it seems stupid to skip it over some vanity. On the OTHER hand, we have some good photos of just the three of us from our trip to Canada last month, which would show how life is now. And we might get a good shot in the Desert this year. Then again, I can't imagine our Christmas photo without Katie...and around and around I go, on the little hamster-wheel in my mind.

Another thing: if attachment is a source of pain and trouble in our lives, especially our spiritual lives (check your Buddhist writings), why are we mothers hard-wired for attachment? Look at your umbilical cord, as an example; everyone gets one. That cord sustains life for months, as your mother gives you some of everything she has in order to help you grow. When you are born, it gets discarded, but do you ever wonder about how the thing grows, without any effort on your part, or your mother's? It is just THERE when it is needed. So tell me, how are we mothers supposed to face the permanent absence of our child? How would I stop feeling that there has been an amputation where Katie is supposed to be? I am all for children growing up, individuating, moving forward into their own lives, fulfilling their dreams and the design of their own being. Going to college in another state is fine with me; dying is not. It's a violation of nature, and everything in me just screams that it is wrong. It IS wrong, but look: it has happened.

Oh, and another thing: I had one of those Peter-Rabbit-in-Mr.-MacGregor's-Garden moments yesterday, at the grocery store. You know, the moments that you hear about, but cannot imagine yourself being part of...I was pushing my cart full of groceries into the frozen-food aisle, going for the waffles that David prefers for breakfast. Standing right in front of those waffles were two lovely ladies I know. They were so sweet, and happy to see me. But I wanted to run the other way. I actually considered leaving without the waffles, in order to avoid any social contact. It wasn't personal; it was just social contact, in which socially normal behaviour is required/expected. I didn't feel normal; I felt stripped and vulnerable. I felt like a hermit, who doesn't remember how to behave around people. It was the first time that it's happened when I have been alone. I did the best I could, but I feel sorry about my response to the lovely ladies; I know they meant well. How odd, when a mere offer of a hug, and a "How are you?" feels like jungle warfare. Perhaps there is something a bit "off" in me. Hmm...