Book Segment #15: "Chrsitmas Morning 2005"

Christmas morning, 2005

Christmas morning came in quietly. There were no children nudging at the foot of the bed. There was no late night preparation of stocking and neatly arranging them in their treasured spots in the living room; no sleigh bells echoing in the distance before the kids wake; no rubbing away the sleep’s residue; no charcoaled footprints across the floor; no rough-hewn note signed simply, “S.C.”; no room filled with evergreen scents. Yet, my heart still burns each moment. 25 snapshots. A delicious kaleidoscope of colors, embraces, smiles, tears, laughter, surprise, wonder, meals, the confetti wrapping remnants and then the quiet reflection. I remember that moment each year climbing into bed the night of all the day’s festivities. I would turn to Valerie, leaning over to give her a light kiss on her cheek and whisper, “Thank you for a wonderful Christmas.”

“You’re welcome. And thank you.”

But not this year.

I spent the morning thinking about something that Jim had been speaking to Valerie and me about before my trip to Dallas, three weeks building up to this Christmas. It was his idea for an interaction in which he wanted us to engage before the holiday. It seems only fitting that with thirty days remaining to our six-month separation agreement, Jim would present us with yet another “bring us to our knees” moment. The idea came during a session nine days before Christmas. Valerie and I had “successfully” met for coffee, and then for a glass of wine spanning three weeks prior to this meeting. Both times felt cordial, albeit a bit awkward. From my perspective I felt some moments of re-engagement and even caught some of the familiar blue flicker in her eyes; just two friends reconnecting after a long gap of time was both refreshing and energizing. So, I thought I would be bold, go for broke and ask her if she might consider spending part of Christmas with me. The gift of time, sharing, caring and rejoicing in the spirit of the manger, as Jim coined it. This session would be the perfect, and safe, place to ask.

The session began, as all previous, with his asking how we were both doing in our “states of heart.” He began with Valerie, who offered this response:

“I see some new things changing in Brian, and I also see some things that seem the same.”

Jim considered her comment and responded, “Are you feeling in any way that you would be open to allowing some moments for closer interaction with him?”

She paused, a pause that seemed to hover like a dense fog in the small office, and then replied, “I’m still hesitant. I’m not sure I can get past my fear of our history.” Whatever images I might have imagined of sitting by a warm fire, talking about what our children were doing, sharing and experiencing this Christmas Day were cut off like the frantic closing of window blinds. I Valerie “letting go” another piece of our relationship. And moving on. I also allowed myself to trip back inot the dark corner of the room where I took on the role of “bad guy,” responsible for all these pain and problems. Probably not her intent, a lot of it surely my deep sense of guilt and responsibility for triggering these events, but at that moment, as with many of our communication exchanges, an “edge” and “bite” and “anger” seemed to emerge, uncharacteristic to the woman I had lived with for the last twenty-five years. And I’m not sure that this is not a very healthy thing for her to express. Situations like those we have encountered over the years people certainly do change people… and still you build a fairly clear sense of a person over twenty-five years. It’s not dissimilar to how a parent “knows” their child and “knows” when something is not right from the first three or four words of a conversation. There’s one missing puzzle piece; it keeps you from completing the picture.

Jim took this opportunity to present his idea:

“I want to suggest an interaction between the two of you,” he began. “I want you to find a church which you do not currently attend; one that has a chapel. You are to visit this chapel when it is not in service, when you can both be there together, in silence, in each other’s and God’s presence. You can pray, or read the Word, or write your thoughts…but there is to be no talking. Do this for up to an hour, then leave and go your separate ways.”

I took a deep breath, imagined the feeling of doing this and glanced over to Valerie, whose expression seemed to mirror mine. Jim waited a moment, and then continued.

“Then, on one of the times you do this, I want you to imagine you are at the funeral for someone very dear to you who just died from a horrible cancer. As you sit there, I want you to reflect on your feelings of profound sadness and mourning for the loss of someone very dear. At the same time, reflect on your feelings of joy in knowing that this person is no longer suffering. Remember, no talking. No interaction. Can you do that?”

Another deep breath, then exchanged glances. I think I might have let out a “Phew!” I must have emitted some sound conveying my discomfort with this activity, because Jim immediately followed it with, “I’m not through yet.” He paused for effect, letting our reactions move through us like molasses on a mid-January morning. Finally, he continued.

“After that, during the final time you go, I want you both to bring individual pictures of the two of you together, and I want you to imagine you’re at another funeral. But this time, you are at the funeral for your marriage. You are to experience the sadness and profound mourning for the loss of someone very close and dear to you…and experience the joy of knowing that there is an end to the painful suffering from the unbearable and painful disease.”

I cannot give you a metaphor for what that moment felt like. The words were piercing. Disarming. Final. Neither of us said a word. And then he continued.

“After that I want you to go outside and find a quiet place, take the pictures and burn them. And when that is done, you will know what the Advent is all about. And that is when I want you both to take that relationship and bring it into the presence of the manger. That is when you will understand the true meaning of Christmas.”
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I turned out the light next to the bed in my mother’s house. I turned over and thanked God for giving me this year’s gift; my time in the presence of the manger. Somewhere in the flickering candles of my heart I heard a quiet whisper, “You’re welcome.”