As a child growing up in a mixed marriage of religions I had the best of both worlds. I got to light the menorah and come Christmas morning I found a pile of presents a man named Santa had left me while I was asleep. I thought all children should grow up this way ~ being exposed to all sorts of customs and holidays. Like mother, like daughter I guess they say. So it was not a shock when I also fell for someone who came from a different background then me. You, my read headed Irish love, oh how you opened my eyes to new and wondrous traditions. But, as child I found myself right around this time of the year taking out paper and pencil. I wrote to this jolly man, asking him like a genie to grant wishes I had. I have never been the “normal” type of child (or adult for that matter) we know that. So my letters were always for something so unrealistic, so much bigger then a toy. Never did I ask for a bike or a doll. It was more like a plea for hearing in my left ear. Or one year I asked to wake up thin and popular. I am sure as you can guess that Santa man is not powerful enough to fund those types of wishes. But each year I wrote. Each year unknown to my family, I placed the little slip of paper under my pillow and slept on it. Like the movies that flood the T.V. at this time of year, I thought that maybe ‘this is the year’ that my wish will be fulfilled.
This year as the holidays consume all of us, my heart brakes. With each Christmas song that plays I lose a little of the sunshine that it use to bring to my heart. But since I have LOST everything else in my life, what do I have to lose???? I guess this year I will write one last hopeless letter to the man in red and sleep with it under my pillow. Maybe just maybe he can make a miracle happen. Here goes nothing and everything…
I have been a VERY good girl this year. I have held myself together when others would have retreated into the darkness. I kissed my husband as his last breath left his body never screaming or yelling, as I wanted it calm for his release. I have forgiven all the doctors and staff that made mistakes that cost me EVERYTHING. I have worked hard not to be selfish and continued to know what is going on in my friend’s lives. I have celebrated their happiness in life even when I lack to have any in mine. So this year all I want for Christmas is one more dance with Patrick in the kitchen. One more moment to get lost in his arms. One more chance to hear his heart beat and feel mine match it. One more kiss of his soft lips. One more inhale of his mixture of body wash and deodorant. One more opportunity to hear his voice soft and low singing along to what ever song we are dancing to. One more slow dance in the kitchen! I am not asking for a you to bring him back for a lifetime, I know that cannot be. I am not asking for a child, as I will most likely always be childless. I am not asking you to bring me some wonderful love that will sweep me off my feet, as I dread that I might be alone forever. I am not asking for you to take away the pain I feel, as I know you can’t. But if I could just have one song worth of a dance ~ doesn’t even need to be a long one, just one song, one last embrace, oh I would be so grateful!
Once again I ask for something that cannot fit under a tree. This wish cannot be wrapped. There is no red bow big enough for this magnitude of a present. But for now I will sleep with this small paper in hopes that maybe that jolly man in his tacky suit can find a way to bring you back to me for one last dance, one last moment, one last second of US.
Around the world and back again~