That sounds like the most cliche title I’ve ever written and it probably is. None-the-less, we all clearly understand it. While I recognize this is not a Pulitzer Prize winning idea, it is a real idea that seems to really affect most of us. What is it about all this magic in the air, hustling in the shops, gifting, fooding, sugaring, decorating, and Hallmark movie watching that could ever bring a sense of ‘the blues’ to anyone. Well, while I have this tee tiny bit of information about out neurobiology, I have loads of information about our experiences. Mine and the people I sit with daily. I have watch the blues sink down on a good many of us when it wouldn’t otherwise make sense. So here’s my theory.
You can dress up life any way you want to, but if the soul needs to cry, to hurt, to grieve, to feel, it is going to let you know. In fact, the more you dress up life in a way that is unrecognizable to the essence of the souls true experience, the more vehemently will the soul raise it’s voice to harness your attention.
If all the tinsel is hung and you still wanna sit down and cry, then go ahead. And, don’t make up a story that you are the only one crying – you aren’t.
For me, I recognize this year is a “changing of the guard” in our family. While living a most amazing life, I feel that shift and the grief of it. Both things are true – “IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE” and I’m feeling sad today, remembering a life that once was. There was a time my brother and I would stand on tippy toes by the door to the den at my grandparents house. Our Papa, dressed in blue pajamas and a plaid robe, would crack the door just barely, quickly slamming it, saying, “oh my word you can’t believe what Santa brought”. We would squeal with anticipation. My grandmother would call from the kitchen, “don’t go in there yet, let me get my lipstick on” (less she be photographed without brightly painted red lips). My mother would be getting her coffee and dad making sure he had the camera (also in traditional pajamas and a robe- this you never see anymore- ). Eventually all the adults would finally be ready to assume their positions and the door would be opened to what appeared to be the most magical room in the world. Santa had indeed come to Verdun Dr.
The years have passed, as they do. My brother and I no longer stand at that door, in fact that house has been sold, that door torn down and remade into something much more modern. My grandmother has forgotten those years all together, though she still holds onto fleeting memories of us, who we are. My grandfather can’t really walk these days – a stroke and several falls – at the age of 93, having begun to take their toll. The original five (grandchildren) are all married and all have children of their own. It is beautiful now as it was then, but some days I have to pause and revisit then if only to find the child within myself. I still see them as they were in a corner of my mind. While I won’t stay there too long, today I spent a few moments in that place. Because, of course, it was that place that brought forth the woman writing this blog, that brought forth the two little girls who made me a mom. It was that place that taught me to sing, to write, to love, to cry, to believe.
Even as I tell you my story of Christmas past, the “blue” is lifting. I realize now we can have both – the story of what was and the beauty of what is.