The house is peaceful. The boys are away with their Dad getting haircuts. The dog and cats are sleeping. There is jazz playing quietly. This should be a time of relaxing for me. Instead, it is an emotional rollercoaster - I am putting away the outward signs of Christmas. The tree came down already - ornaments packed and stacked. Tree dissassembled and squashed back into the box in the garage. Now it is time for the rest to be put away - the snowglobes, the glittery mantle tree and tall yulebuck, the nativities and gold painted pinecones. I find myself gripped by melancholy.
It never used to bother me to return the house to its pre-Christmas state. I was and am always eager for the end of winter and the first signs of spring. But now it does. I think about the people who made Christmas special for me as a child, and wish they were closer. I think of my Grandparents who are no longer on this earth. Especially, I remember my Grandmother Gardlund. She liked to take Christmas down right away. For her, it was not an act of anticipating spring. I believe she took the decorations down because they reminded her of people who were now far away. The grandkids had gone home, some nearby, but some not so close. Her daughters were back to work. Her son gone home to Michigan. Christmas reminds us of family and laughter and happiness - but it also reminds us of endings and goodbyes. I'm not as good at good-byes as I use to be.
And time is relentless. I see the paper ornaments from four Christmases ago that my children made - their handprints look impossibly small. And I know that Christmas at home with them as joyous, crazy kids will not last forever. As much as we strive to recreate Christmas and memories of the past every year, it is always different. Kids grow up. Members of the family die. And new members are brought in. The hard part, for me, is allowing all this to be okay. Life shouldn't be stagnate and static. It should be about movement, light, growth and change. But I still want to be in charge of the changes! So frustrating that I am not.
I put away the Advent calendar my Grandma and Pop-pop Smith sent my husband and I when we were first married. We didn't have kids, yet. But, they were always hopeful we would have children soon. My mind wanders back to the excitement of going to the airport to meet Grandma and Pop-pop when I was very young. Grandma always had the heaviest suitcase and Pop-pop had hidden treasures in the pockets of his big overcoat.
Christmas at home in Michigan meant snow - usually - and fires in the fireplace - always. I loved the thrill of the cold air rushing into the family room when Dad went outside to get firewood. He would bring it in and then roll newspapers into logs for kindling. We would sit with our backs to the fire to get warm - and still our toes would be cold. Home or away from home for Christmas meant church on Christmas eve and Christmas morning. It meant candy and big dinners and time to read by the fire. Mom would bring out the record player and we would decorate the tree to music of Christmas carols. One Christmas the pipes froze and we spent a good portion of the day with hair driers trying to warm the pipes inside - while Dad did mysterious things to the pipes outside.
I can't go back and live it all again. And, I can't hold on to this year's Christmas - as lovely and as joy filled as it was. We live in the light of hope. And hope looks forward. So I will put away the vestiges of Christmas with love in my heart and allow the melancholy to be dispelled by God's grace.