Remembrances

Christmas Eve wins me back from whatever mood I had sunk into. I was a happy kid–ignorantly and blessedly happy-- and though I am neither so ignorant nor so blessed now, this night returns me to that grace for a little time.

Always think of mother on this night. Christmas made her so happy, too. I got it from her. She would decorate and over-decorate and make hot chocolate, and, that one time, have things her way. She was reliving a childhood, as I do, when she was happy. I can’t think too much, because her life ended sadly, perhaps bitterly, and the idea of that makes me frantic. I have stood by her grave and begged to know what to do to make it right, but of course no suggestion was forthcoming, or possible. But I think of her now and am happy and sad at the same time. Every Christmas I have thought that the next one would be all right, that I would spend it in the arms of lover or spouse, a life and a destiny settled around me, but that has never happened and now never will, and the bewilderment does not abate even for an hour. Still, I’m joyful on this night, despite of it all, because of it all. I’m the kid who gets no presents and still believes in Santa Claus. I feel there’s some balance there, some blessing that I would appreciate more if I stood outside of it. But appreciate it I do, enough, so that this night retains its ancient magic. In two hours I go to church to sing the Christ Child in.