The Annual Drive

Christmas Eve, and all that is left of the church service is the smell of smoking wick from several dozen candles, and murmurs from the little pockets of conversation as people leave the building. 

We pack up our things and load them in the vehicle, and drive home to unload them before piling into it again for the Annual Drive.

2013

Someone brings a Christmas CD. We put it in the player and take off to view the Christmas lights in and around our city. In some areas it seems that folks try to outdo each other to create jaw-dropping displays. Others are more quiet, understated, and yet hopeful ... a few electric candles in the window, the muted twinkling of the Christmas tree from inside the house, showing through the window. 

As the music plays, we join in the singing, each one putting in his or her part until we feel the stirring of that elusive Christmas spirit in our hearts. 

After about an hour or so, we head back and we have something hot to drink - a little cocoa usually, topped with marshmallow bits. We watch our own Christmas lights reflect and twinkle amid the decorations. We turn on some soft music (or we tune in to the Fireplace Channel) and we sip our warm drinks and enjoy each other's company. Later, we might watch a Christmas movie on TV before turning in for the night.

We have done this tradition for over 20 years. Last year, we did it with one less among us ... so we asked a close friend to join us. We felt free to feel what we felt, no matter what that was. And we will again this year. 

This year, we don't have the luxury that the initial numbness (shock) of the loss brought. Its cold, harsh reality seems to dare us to plunge into the abyss. But a big part of Christmas is about never needing to be alone again. So, we reach out to others, and we share what we have. And though it feels ... different ... we can still be grateful, still know peace, still laugh and enjoy quality time together. Not just this night, but any night we want to. 

Because we're family. Because we love each other. Just because.

Reviving an old tradition

There are many things about my childhood I would just as soon forget; I've talked about those memories from time to time, and I won't talk about them in this post. 

There was one tradition I observed when I was growing up, however, that has stayed with me all of my life. I'm not even sure if it's still done anymore in the area in which I grew up, but it was so meaningful that it stayed with me.

Two days a year, Mother's Day and Father's Day, people wore a carnation boutonniere or corsage to church so as to "honor" their parents. If the parent was still living, the flower would be red; if not, it would be white. I remember my parents kept a collection of plastic corsages in the top drawer between the fridge and the sink, right beside the tea towels. Every year, they'd dust them off and each person would be given a flower of the appropriate color to wear on either the second Sunday of May or the third Sunday of June. 

They used plastic flowers, because it was too expensive to use real ones.

When I married and moved to my husband's province, the locals had never heard of this custom. They thought it rather sweet, but strange as well. 

I did it anyway. 

Several years ago, the church we attended started handing out carnations to all the mothers in the church on Mother's Day. It was May 1989, and I was pregnant with our first child. Since our denomination believes that life begins at conception, I stood in line to get a flower. "No," I was told. "You're not a mother." 

Hurt and bewildered, I found my seat again. I never forgot the sting of that remark; even though I have forgiven it, and even forget who said it, the experience made me resolve never to treat a first-time pregnant mom like that ... ever.  

But I digress. As the church handed out the flowers to moms anyway, I got away from wearing a flower on that Sunday morning and instead, I made a corsage out of the one I was given at the morning service to wear that evening. 

Nowadays, for various reasons, Mother's Day is very painful for me, but I thought I could at least remember my dad. And since my kids don't go to church - for their own reasons - I thought I would honor their father as well, because - well - he's an awesome dad!

They have that in common, in different ways, but they also share a love of woodworking and especially of music. My dad sang bass (yes, I know the song) - and such a full, rich voice he had - and my husband sings baritone, almost the same thing but not quite. 

So tomorrow morning, and possibly tomorrow evening, I plan to wear a little something to commemorate my own father and my children's father. For posterity though, I thought I'd stage a symbolic photo as an extra tribute :

A lapel corsage
Two tiny roses - white (for Dad) and red (for Hubby)
surrounded by baby's breath (for purity of heart)
and rose leaves (for persevering love)
and sitting squarely on Middle C.

Happy Father's Day ... to both of you.