the holidays as fun,
exciting,
carol-filled,
snowy-glittered days of hot chocolate
and glowing fires and children's laughter-
there is also that down time-
that place between celebration
and meditation
where we are truly alone.
Yet, we all need this space-
this stretching of our souls-
these quiet moments to reflect
and recharge.
I took my "alone time" on Saturday morning.
The week had been a scrapbook of
Christmas ornaments and grandchildren
and shopping and cooking and cleaning
and planning and doing and being
the Super Mom.
But, as I sat in the darkness of the
family room,
rolled into a flannel ball
in my favorite comfy chair,
I realized that I am no longer
excited by the season.
I realized that what magic
once had roots here,
now hovers like a kite
that begs for freedom.
I confessed to myself that
pretending it is
the most wonderful time of the year-
doesn't make it so.
Perhaps it was stress,
or weariness
or apprehension of failure.
Or maybe too many sweets,
too little sleep,
and not enough wine.
Whatever the reasons,
I was feeling a bit lost.
Totally consumed
by the days
that I have no control over.
I put on some soft Christmas music
and closed my eyes-
seeing quite clearly
the smiling faces of my children
as they leap-frogged over one another
to rip the wrapping from Santa's gifts-
as they giggled with glee
and played incessantly through
the night.
I still saw them in their "jammer bottoms"
and holiday slippers-
their candy cane sweetness...
their effervescent joy...
And like a film on fast forward,
I recalled Christmas trees of the past,
special gifts,
certain treats,
forgotten snowmen
and lost prayers.
A tear rolled down my cheek
as I sat in the darkness
and mourned times passing.
Then,
all of a sudden,
my husband came into the room-
appearing as a silhouette
against the dim light of the hallway.
He walked over to me
and held out his hand,
helping me up from my chair,
but not saying a word.
Although it was dark,
I saw his smile-
shining like a loving light
that captured my affection.
...And we began to dance.
A slow, sultry movement
in the center of the room-
the Christmas music
like a fading heart beat
around us-
hugging like young lovers
that had no fear of time.
And then just as quickly
as he appeared,
he left the room-
squeezing my hand
as though he understood
the images in my mind-
the quiet sorrow that
surrounded me.
That dance made all the difference.
Unexpected joy came over me.
A piece of magic was recaptured.
A reminder that what happens today
is what we should take time to enjoy.
That dwelling on the past-
or time-
only diminishes today's memories.
And, someday,
when I'm old and gray
and sitting alone in the darkness
at Christmas time-
I'll remember that dance.
And I will smile.
