Let There Be Love

Prologue

"Is Granny really dead?"

"Excuse me." I said, clearly taken aback by Wy's out-of-the-blue question in route to a friend's birthday party.

"Not Old Granny. The other Granny. Is she really dead?"

When we hit the red light at Hillcrest I turned around in my seat so I could look the Boy in the eye to get a read on his expression, so out of nowhere was the question.

Wy gave me a sheepishly nervous smile. The look he gives when I am (or he thinks I am) mad.

"Yes." I said. "Granny, my Mom, is dead."

"Oh," he said. "Forever?"

"Yes." I said. "Forever."

"Oh." he said looking nervous.

"When you die you die, son. It's for good. You don't come back like in the zombie game. Or on TV. Or in the movies. When you're dead. You're dead."

The car behind us honked when the light turned green forcing me to turn around and continue down Beltline.

Fighting down anger at being interrupted by this nameless other I said to Wy's reflection in the rearview mirror, "It's OK if you want to talk about it Wy. Daddy's not upset or mad. I'll answer your questions."

"Were you an adult?" he asked immediately.

"When Granny, my Mom, died?" I said. "Yes."

"Will I be an adult?"

"What?" I asked, although in that instant, I knew what he meant which is why we said in unison.

"I hope."
"Will I be an adult when you die?"

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We have two Christmas trees. The main tree is what we call My Lovely Bride's tree. Her tree was in our main living room. It stands in the window that is in the front of our house. She decorates this tree in a very coordinated fashion, and has made it known that it is off limits. In fact, the Boy(s), who can and will mess with most anything in our casa, will not mess with this tree. That says it all.

Our second tree, known as the Oklahoma and/or the Boy(s) tree was in our den where we spend most of our family time. It stood next to our recliner, opposite the sofa. It is not in a window. This is the tree the Boy(s) decorate, with gusto I might add, which means it is decorated in a very uncoordinated fashion with a hodgepodge of ornaments. Ornaments they've made in school as well as the obligatory keep sake Christmas (insert the applicable year and Boy(s)photo with Santa) ornaments.

Three weeks before Christmas, while sitting in the recliner and admiring the Boy(s) tree I noted a ceramic Frosty the Snowman ornament tucked into a nook in the back of the tree. You see Dear Reader, I made that ornament, and it was while trying to do the math of how old Frosty would be that I first noticed that the Boy(s) had hung duplicate Christmas 2002, 2003, 2004 and 2005 keep sake ornaments (with the applicable Boy(s) photo with Santa) on their tree. Most of them were hung near, if not next to each other which was oddly disconcerting, since they were carbon copies, and a bitter reminder that one of the two, had once belonged to my Mom. That's how we got the Boy(s) tree in the first place. We inherited (or claimed) it when my Dad got rid of Mom's things he didn't need or want. That's why the Boy(s) had a 35 year old Frosty the Snowman ornament on their tree along with many others that literally adorned the Christmas trees of my youth.

At church the Sunday prior to Christmas, Pastor Jack openly discussed the recent loss of a fellow Minister and life-long friend to cancer. He talked about her long fight. And how she had told him she was dying and the acceptance she felt. Then he discussed her final days at home in palliative care and then the aftermath of her death. Jack's emotions were as powerful as they were honest and by the time he talked about her nearly five year old son and husband there were few dry eyes left in the congregation.

After the sermon, I was sitting on a bench in the Narthex next to the Elder Boy and my father-in-law while my Lovely Bride and her Mom stood in front of us discussing Christmas Day logistics. I wasn't really listening to them to be honest. My mind was stuck on Jack's sermon and the Boy(s) Christmas tree when a friend walked up to our group, with tears in her eyes, and said something to the effect of, 'This is all your fault.' and then quickly changed the subject to something else. My in-laws who were with us didn't know what my Lovely Bride did, that this friend follows this here BLOG pretty regularly, thus knowing all my/our shit. I guess Jack's sermon coupled with the holiday season led to this outpouring of empathy.

I don't really know, the same way she didn't know that when she walked up and said what she said, I was thinking about the Boy(s) tree and a 35 year old Frosty ornament while doing a mental inventory of the duplicate Christmas (insert the applicable year and Boy(s)photo with Santa) ornaments that were on their tree.

The answer is eight. Which is really four. Four. That's how many Christmases Mom got as a Granny.

There are three single Christmas keep sake ornaments on their tree. Christmas 2006, 2007 and 2008, which made this our third Christmas sans Mom.

In spite of what you've read, I'd be lying if I said this third Christmas was as hard as the first or second. It wasn't. I had my moments. Like when Jack talked about his friend dying of cancer. That's when those old familiar fuck cancer sort of feelings are dredged up, and I'm enveloped by the finality of her death.

It was when I was looking at that Frosty ornament I made so long ago that I realized something this Christmas. Something I don't think you can truly get until you lose your Mom, unless of course you are a Mom.

No one in the world ever cared for me more, or ever will.

She's really dead, and all I have are my memories and a few time capsules like a 35 year old Frosty the Snowman she kept and those fucking duplicated Christmas (insert the applicable year and Boy(s)photo with Santa) keep sake ornaments.

Until I BLOG again...Who kicked a hole in the sky so the heavens would cry over me?