hope
My mother was desperate for a tree, for a successful Christmas morning that brought joy and hope to our family after a year of hardship.
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Superstition ruled my mind. More than I realized. I had no idea, within hours, there’d be no child to mother. And then he was gone. And we were childless.
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When I held Baby J for the first time, everything shuffled into place. For the kids, I see every reason to breathe. They love me. I don’t know why.
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My sister and I aren’t the only people damaged by Christmases past. We're taking back the holiday and building new Christmas memories.
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That’s the great thing about books where the world ends: you can close them and look up to see a world that miraculously managed not to end while you were busy reading. You can hop back into the fray of that still-turning, still-suffering world and maybe make your own Magic Vessel Of Flickering Empathy Waiting For Lost And Lonely Souls To Find while you’re at it. Ironic as it may be, that magic is part of the glue that holds humans together.
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The original meaning of the LOVE bracelet, for me, was that my love for my son would never go away. It just was in a different form now. The physical was gone. But my bracelet was a reminder that the LOVE is always there. Six years down the road for me, I know there are so many other hard things that come along with losing a child.
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I step away from worrying about the federal government and think about my community for a moment. I ask myself who needs help, what do they need, and how can I deliver it. Then I do it.
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