Bending Time at Christmas

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No one talks about them, these souls we love, hovering high in the ether above the twinkling lights and well-taped gifts tonight. Arguably the most important day of the year, and it seems bizarre not to acknowledge some of the key players. Like leaving out a wise man, or an angel heard on high. Not sure why we don’t mention my father, the man who loved Christmas more than life itself and treated his own daughters better than the baby Savior rated that cold, starry night. Oh, he is here alright, my dad: in the special cheeses we chase the city to find, in the blue eyes seated around the table, in the way we look for magic. But nobody mentions his name.  What would he do with these six amazing grandchildren, each with a giant personality and an even bigger Irish dimple? Where would he start? Science experiments with Marty or Hot Wheels with Jack? Would he hoist Maggie up in his lap, or enjoy the lights from the couch with Maura by his side? Maybe the accelerated dot to dots with Owen, or building a Lego dump truck with Sean? We’ll never know for sure, but I know he would be sitting in the corner of the tree, lit up with a grin from ear to ear. Oh, how I wish I could dream this scene into being. But I certainly wouldn’t mind talking about him, telling stories from the past, and remembering the Christmases when he made all of my little-girl dreams come true.

I struggle with the same questions at my in-law’s house later. Uncle Brian and Pa are Christmasing with the angels, and nobody brings this up. I don’t like to forget. My father-in-law loved to tease me about my love of well-done meat. I make the mistake of bringing it up tonight, and am met with silence. (He would be proud of the pink in my dinner, I think.) What is wrong with the remembering? Later, my sons ask if their Uncle Brian liked to golf. That was met with a laugh, and a strong denial, but that is all. But he is there in the Tony Hawk gifts from Nana, and the long legs of my daughter, and the sharp wit of his brothers.  I wish we could make him more real for my kids.

Christmas is a season for bending time, for understanding the miracle of a baby born and re-born to save a tired world. What I wouldn’t do for a little magic dust to spend an hour with these men I miss.  More than that, I want the scene played out for my children, so they understand why the night is so holy and starry and crisp. So they know the feeling of being loved beyond all understanding, past the earthly vale and beyond all space and time. And so that one day, when little eyes twinkle on their own laps, they will realize with pride and longing where the love and the laughter began.