McLeod Law Offices

In 2006, I shared my most cherished memories of Christmas Eve.  And today, while reading it again, I was brought back to some very happy times.  Admittedly, it was not always happy.  Like everyone else, my family saw some very difficult times, and not every Christmas Eve was spent in laughter and joy, fueled by a cheese platter that had been left out far, far too long.  But even in the most difficult of times, even when in times of what felt like unending darkness, there is something good to be found.  A goodness that can last for years to come.

By Christmas 1996, my eldest cousin and my grandfather had died.  Keeping with what I think is some twisted Irish tradition, they died in 1995 and 1996 respectively, just a shade under 12 months apart.  My Nana had gone through what we knew would be her last round of radiation.  And I knew when I pulled onto her road that that Christmas Eve was likely to be our last.

The only gift I had for her was a box of cookies from a North End bakery that I know she was fond of, and a smaller box of her favorites that she did not have to share with anyone else.  Some cousins and some siblings did not come.  I don’t remember why. I know my mom and my aunt were there – but honestly, I cannot remember who else was there with the exception of course, my Nana.

Their Tiverton house sits on a low bank overlooking Nanaquaket Pond at the end of a long unpaved road.  During my childhood, the porch was winterized and it was turned into a sitting area and ultimately, my Nana’s bedroom.  We never called it her bedroom.  It was always “the porch.”

She sat over in the front corner.  In front of one of the windows, on a small table that’s now in my bedroom, sat an old nativity scene that I’m willing to bet she bought at Woolworth’s or perhaps even Grant’s.  The room itself was lit with only a few candles, and from the lamp light that came through the window from the living room to the porch.

“Come sit by me,” she said and I obeyed.

She looked good, albeit in a darkened room lit by nothing but candlelight just about anyone looks good.  Her beauty parlor friend (as she described her to me) had come by the day before to do her hair.  But despite the hair-do, she was snuggled in a warm robe, sitting in a comfortable chair, and looking out towards the pond.  She was clearly very tired.  I pulled up my grandfather’s captain’s chair and sat beside her.

The moon was full and the surface of the water was like black, shimmering glass.  The calmness of the water and the moon light made the outside surroundings appear almost surreal.  Everything was remarkably beautiful, and at the same time, mind-numbingly heartbreaking.  And most of the night, we talked about change.

People we knew and loved were gone.  The world even then was changing.  We talked about it, laughed about it, and keeping with Irish tradition, bitched about it.  I know that we both knew that next Christmas Eve, at least one of us would not be there.  But there were no tears shed.  As someone who balled like a school girl after watching “My Dog Skip”, that might be pretty hard to believe – but it’s true.  And even now as I write this, I’m not sure how to explain it – because thinking about that night only puts this wide smile on my face.  Yet I do not know how to otherwise describe a moment that was indeed excruciatingly sad, while at the same time, exquisitely beautiful.  And there were no gifts, but for the cookies.  There was only the moon, the quiet, the candlelight, and my Nana.

As I meet more and more people who are facing their own changes in life.  This Christmas, many more people are trying the best they can with what little they have.  It can be difficult to assure them that even in the darkest moments – even when things just seem that they cannot get any worse – something good can be found.  Something beautiful.  Something lasting.

As that evening came to an end, I took my Nana’s hand and told her that I needed to head back to my mother’s house (who at the time lived on the Cape).  I knew I had to say good-bye – not good-bye for good, mind you – that moment would come months later.  But by saying good-bye I would be ending what was an otherwise perfect and lovely Christmas Eve.

She knew this too.  When I took her hand she gave me “the look.”  You know the look I am talking about – the one that instills in you at a very early age that you must “pay attention.”  She then briefly let go of my hand, but then took it again and firmly squeezed it never breaking her gaze from my eyes.  She smiled.  She remained stoic, strong and beautiful.  Neither of us said good-bye.

“Be careful driving,” she reminded me.

I leaned over, kissed her, we wished each other a “Merry Christmas”, we told each other “I love you”, and shortly after that I left.  I never shed a tear and for the entire drive to my mom’s house, all I could think about was what a wonderful gift it was to spend that time with her on such a beautiful moonlit night.

And 13 years later, remembering that night now gives me feelings that are just as warm, just as wonderful and just as priceless as in 1996.

My hope is that my sharing this has reminded you that all darkness and all troubles are inherently temporary.  That the sun will again rise.  That the clouds will pass.  That even in darkness – like the cold, moonlit December night on Nanaquaket Pond – you can find joy, beauty and hope that will carry you for years to come.

And of course, it is with that message conveyed, that I wish you all a very Merry Christmas.

-Bill

Related posts:

1. A Christmas Message…
2. Christmas 2008
3. July 4, 2009

Tags: Commentary

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