Merry Christmas!

Oh how those two simple words change over time.

When I was a child, they meant excitement and delight.  Those two words held the promise of everything that was right in the world.  Growing up in Wisconsin, nearly every Christmas was a white Christmas.  I remember the way the snow would hang on the trees and bushes, the colored lights shining through the blanket of peace.  Snow is so quiet, and coming home from midnight services, the crunch of the tires on the unplowed streets laying a bass line under the carols on the radio.  The smell of the air was a combination of freshness, pine and firewood.  Running into the house, throwing off our coats, we couldn’t wait to put on our new Christmas pajamas and grab the book Mom bought us every year.  The faster we went to bed the faster the magic happened.

When I was a newlywed, those two words held the hope of a future filled with love.  Our first tree, our first, Christmas morning, crawling back into bed with a fresh pot of coffee and gifts snatched from under the tree.  The toasty warmth under a down comforter combined with the notion that it would last forever wrapping around the two of us…

When I found myself single again, “Merry Christmas” did not seem to be for me.  But I put up a tree and placed the gifts for my co-workers under it.  It didn’t seem right to place the crèche I received for a wedding present, so it stayed in the box with my joy, as I went through the motions.  Alone.  With my dog.  Who opened the meticulously wrapped candles I had lovingly chosen, ate the wax out of them, and then left a trail of vomit throughout the house.

When I moved to Florida, those two words seemed hollow as I tried to acclimate to Christmas shopping in shorts.   No snow.  No family.  No traditions.  No wonder. 

Andrew’s first Christmas…. He was so little.  He didn’t understand.   But these two simple words were again filled with excitement and delight.  Those two words held the promise of everything that was right. New sights.  New sounds.  New smells.  New family.  New traditions. 

And then, the Christmas when Andrew turned two…. My family came to visit.  My brother Bob, his wife Lee Ann and their three kids.  My mom and dad.  It was going to be amazing.  Bob and I were going to recreate the Christmas’ of our memories for our kids… without the snow and cold.  We talked about it for months, got all the kids new Christmas pajamas and books.  Found the recipe for Tom and Jerrys.  Planned, and schemed and dreamed of a picture perfect Christmas…

The only thing good about that Christmas was that Lee Ann and I were both skinny.  First, my mom insisted on talking about how she was going to die soon, probably at age 62 just like her mom did, although there was nothing wrong with her.  She detailed who should get what- designated beneficiaries of her jewelry.  It was morbid.  And depressing.  Next, Bob hit a parking meter with my car leaving a huge dent.  Then, I lost my diamond tennis bracelet while shopping at Best Buy. 

And on Christmas morning.  Andrew died. 

We were all up, getting ready to unwrap presents (or had we already done so?).  I was sitting on the floor by the tree and in surveying the scene, realized Andrew wasn’t where I had left him.  I got up, and went off to bring him back to the party.  When I passed the sliding glass doors off the kitchen out of the corner of my eye, I saw something in the pool. 

What the….? 

And then it clicked.

The life literally left my body on the scream that burst from my heart and exited my lips-my lips that had kissed every inch of my baby every day for the past 18 months.  I jumped in the pool. The shock of the unheated water heightening my senses in the very moment I did not want to feel.  I grabbed his lifeless form and passed him to the waiting hands of my husband while my brother called 911.  I sprang from the pool and assessed his blueness my mind screaming,

“He’s got to breathe. He’s got to breathe.” 

I tilted his head back, pried open his jaw, and reclaimed my son.

Once again, my breath his breath.  One more time, my life his life. 

And within moments, he reclaimed me- rejected the water, spewing it out, and then, like the moment of his birth, took his own breath.  Became not me, but him.   The blue from his lips returned to his eyes and my baby was back.  My life returned. 

When we were in the ambulance on our way to the hospital, he put his hands on my face and said, “No cry mama. No cry.”   Oh how I loved him.

Oh how I love him.

And that’s Christmas. 

Some suck.  Some don’t.  Some are picture perfect.  Some are messy and scary and nothing like we want.

But it doesn’t matter. 

Christmas is about God loving the world so much. 

He showed it through his son. 

He shows it through my son.

Merry Christmas.