A soft place to land in a harsh season
- Melissa Herrera: Not Waiting for Friday
- December 24, 2023
- 937
I drove home in heavy, fat snowflakes last evening. The snow was a surprise as I was scurrying around town gathering things for the new house. I hadn’t bothered to check the weather, but the snow felt like a soft blanket that wove itself amongst the twinkling Christmas lights. I made it home safely, even on two tires that need replaced. Adding that to my ever growing to-do list.
Preparing to move while readying a new house to move into is not something I recommend during the holiday season. But I am happy, joyful even, and remind myself I’m able to do this — still — with pep in my step. My body is strong and able, and I don’t take that for granted. Boxes of framed photographs have made it into the new house. As I set them down, a little forlorn in a not-yet-furnished room, I looked at the faces of my children when they were little.
This is a house they won’t live in or feel much of a connection to. I believe it’s a gift we give our kids not to hold on to the place they’re attached to — the one they padded down the stairs to fat stockings filled with treasures, a sparkling not-so-perfect Christmas tree surrounded by presents we could afford. When they take care of our little estate after we’re gone, I want them to not have to cry as they go through a mountain of things in the kitchen they ate their dippy eggs and toast in while sipping chocolate milk, the living room where endless episodes of “Rugrats” played while they were little, the one they tiptoed into a quarter past the cloak of midnight, avoiding the squeaky stair step as teenagers. I was always waiting for them in the darkness.
Gifts come in different packages, and while I can’t reach my hand to comfort the sore spots the world is experiencing right now, I surely can understand and appreciate the good things that have been given to me. I don’t take memories for granted when they filter through my mind like the grainy slides I have from Mom that need a projector to be thoughtfully viewed.
When this column comes out, all my children will be here under one roof. I am not a precious parent and do not long for them to be with me at all times. A final Christmas in the house they grew up in is something I asked for. We don’t appreciate what our parents felt most of the time, the agony and the joys, because they were, well, our parents. We don’t see them as fully human until they are gone from us. We knew they were, but the child/parent relationship can be fraught with conditions and expectations, whether we like it or not. I regret certain things I wish I’d known sooner.
But Christmas is upon us, and while the baby will always remain in the manger, it means different things for me in this year of our Lord 2023. It means change, upheaval and purposeful love. It means saying goodbye and choosing happiness and comfort for ourselves. It means seeing the world through new eyes. It’s about embracing what’s uncomfortable and not pushing it to the side. It’s about laying down old ways.
Merry Christmas to those who celebrate. To those who don’t, I send my love with open hands. And may those who suffer great terrors land softly in harsh places if just for a moment.
Melissa Herrera is a published author and opinion columnist. She is a curator of vintage mugs and all things spooky, and her book, “TOÑO LIVES,” can be found at www.tinyurl.com/Tonolives. For inquiries, to purchase her book or anything else on your mind, email her at junkbabe68@gmail.com or find her in the thrift aisles.