It’s a Wonderful Li e

 

 

 

            For each of us, Christmas means different things. I assume, however, there are common grounds we all associate with this time of year. Whether snow or Santa or blinking lights, there are triggers we all have throughout Christmastime  I’m just not sure if there are more people sad at Christmas or glad at Christmas. Are those lights green and red or are they blue? The logical part of me argues for both. Despair in moderation, I suppose. For many, its not about moderation it’s about desperation. Christmas, for them, is but a constant reminder, a slap in the face of sheer misery. It can be hard enough just getting to Christmas let alone getting threw Christmas. Christmas can be joyful, even magical, but for many it’s all just a wonderful lie. .

“Mary's in a nursing home
She puts her favorite records on
Reminds her of the years long gone
Another Merry Christmas”

             She spent more time alone these days. At 87, Mary Cross had lived at Terrace Place for 19 days. When she broke her hips they left her there. Her entire world was gone in a matter of minutes and her future at the hands of anyone but her. She was desperately alone. A few visits during the week did not make up for an abandoned life and the view from her bed looking out over a parking lot. She was miserable. Some of her agony lingered from a different place. When she lost her husband Richard, she couldn’t imagine going on without him, but she did just that. The last 9 years were a testament to her fortitude and great resolve. She lost it all when she became an invalid. All she had left was her music. She would listen to it over and over on the compact turntable one of her grandchildren set up for her to use. Sometimes she even put on headphones.

            She would drift on the melancholy, of days gone by and people as well. She floated on it and then it took her away. Even a moment was bliss compared to the hallow place that they had left her. When the Christmas Eve visit was over, Mary remained there like she had been these many days. She looked out her window but there was no snow to even amuse her. She thought of Richard and the kids and the kids of the kids. Her mind was vibrant, and it wandered. Christmas Eve came, and she met more, as she took each disc, blew on it for dust and played them over and over in both her ears.   

 “Billy's home from overseas
The pride of his whole family
Still fights a war that no one sees
Another Merry Christmas”

            William James killed 4 people that he knew of. At his hand, he blew apart a man, 2 women and a young girl. He launched the grenade and ended each one of them. He had never faced such a staggering reality. Right there on the battlefield his mind shut down unable to deal with the deed he had just done. He ended up in hospital and eventually he returned home. A few pills later and everyone acted like nothing had happened. Everyone seemed so proud but not concerned. Life went on, the flashes did too. It was a silent battle, a feat to shut the voices and the faces out. As Christmas approached Billy began to pretend. He would smile and wish everyone a Merry Christmas. He sat with his family Christmas morn, and he unwrapped each present. He played up all the glee, his fake grin covering a broken will and a shattered mind.

            You could say he was haunted but the Ghosts of Christmas had nothing to do with his pain. It was there in the darkness, almost every time he closed his eyes. Good sleep was almost unattainable. Each night Billy would seek rest but only to be covered by his thoughts and deeds. He couldn’t live with himself, but he just couldn’t find it within himself to seek a permanent solution. He suffered. He suffered in his mind, and he suffered in his soul. Christmas didn’t matter even one little bit.  

“It's happy and sad
The good and the bad
Someone's up
Someone's barely hanging on
It's everything all at once
If we're honest enough
Everybody wants to be loved”

             Under the right circumstance, Christmas can bring light to a world filled with darkness. The season seems to inspire given specific conditions. Under the right circumstance, Christmas can bring a darkness, one is unable to harness the light. Christmas is hope. Christmas is despair. It can be both at the same time. One searches for the joy, but it is often swallowed by the reality of the world around us. For some, Christmas just makes things worse. It is a constant reminder, a punch to the gut at every candy cane and snow man display.  For a brief moment you remember. You remember the way it was but then you remember the way it is and never can be again. It is in that desperation that we cry out for love. 

“Every year on Christmas Eve
Jill hangs four stockings
Now just three
Wonders if there'll ever be
Another Merry Christmas”

            It had been 40 weeks since he left her. The last time she saw him alive; he went out into the storm and came home in a jar. The police told her it was the icy conditions that propelled him into the front end of that transport truck. Her 2 kids were young enough that maybe one day they may not remember. She told herself she never would. Her entre life changed in an instance but she was forced to carry on if only for Emily and  Alexander. The last thing she wanted to do was celebrate Christmas but with children you have to sacrifice for their sake. So she put up the decorations. She bought presents and got a Christmas tree from the Canadian Tire down the street. Her forfeiture was all in her head and every bell, every whistle was like a sting. On Christmas Eve, she brought out the stockings to hang on the mantle. She wasn’t sure what to do with his.

            The day was done and Jill sat alone on Christmas night. With the kids fast asleep, she turned off all the glimmer and turned off all the sparkle. The glare from a streetlight cast just enough bright to silhouette the Christmas tree tucked away in the corner. She was as exhausted on the inside as she was on the out. She nestled herself on the couch and laid there in the dark. With each twinkle off the shadowed tree, she asked herself if Christmas would always be this way. She sat there fighting, yearning, hurting at the very thought of it. In the distance, at the midnight hour, she heard bells ringing. They were nothing but the clanging chimes of doom.   

 
“Our painted old nativity
Is fragile like the lives we lead
Silently reminding me
God is with us
Another Merry Christmas”
 

            It’s lovely to talk about the hope that Christmas brings. Its easy to hide in all the glitter and all the gold.. God is here with us, so everything is going to be okay. Between the expectations and the jubilation, for the hurting soul it is mostly loud noise. The rest of it just lingers. Everything can become a hammer, banging on the past and the future at the very same time. Sometimes, in all the pain, we forget that life goes on and we can too. Given time, you’ll have another Merry Christmas and that’s no lie.