Tag Archives: christmas

Merry Christmas Daddy.

Christmas… the Holidays… the joys of the Season. That time of the year when we draw closer to family. When we remember and embrace the very first Christmas gift given to us … Love.

A parent’s love. Pure as the first snows of Christmas. For God so loved His children that He sent His Son, that someday we might return to Him.

And yet culturally, and as a society, we seem to be distancing from that impactful message.

Cynicism, self-absorption, greed and tribalism seem to be the primary motivational and identification factors of our society. We identify by whatever political party we voted for. And we shun those who voted for someone else. In our fear and ignorance, we only want to hear those voices which agree with our own opinions.

We are subjected to an endless stream of new Hallmark movies every year. Movies which usually involve a career driven person in a large city going home to their small town to save a hotel, or Christmas tree farm or small business. And, while doing so, reconnecting with the first love of their life. But, that is not real life.  That is not reality. Especially during these holiday times.

The Holidays are a time for families. A time to celebrate with loved ones. A time to remember those whom we have lost. A time to reflect on the past year. And a time to look boldly ahead.

However, for parents like me, we feel the loss, the anguish, the grief caused when a beloved child is taken from us. That grief is so much more acute at this time of the year. Further, that grief can rear its head in unexpected and unforeseen ways.

In the holiday comedy movie, The Family Stone, the story of a dysfunctional but loving family is told in humorous ways even as difficult, heart rendering topics are addressed. Then, one brief scene happens. It seems almost like a throw away interaction between two characters. Late on Christmas Eve, one of the daughters, the pregnant daughter, is sitting on a couch, her sister asleep on her lap, Judy Garland’s version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas is playing on the television. The lights are turned down low, the lights on the Christmas tree in the background.  The father, who is carrying the weight of an incredibly heavy burden walks past, looks upon his daughter and lovingly says, “Good night, Susannah. Merry Christmas.” Susannah looks at her father and with obvious love in her eyes simply says, “Merry Christmas Daddy.”

That is when the dagger is pushed into the heart. Knowing that I, and many other fathers like me, will never hear those words again from our daughter. It freezes our soul. And we die just a little inside each time.

And yet, we cannot let that grief become our masters. We cannot let it define us until the end of our days. Yes, we must acknowledge that grief exists and always will. But we must find ways of persevering. Of finding strength and character to continue with our life’s journey. And often times that strength and resiliency is brought to us as a present … as a gift.

In 2018, it was a 10 year old boy. I wrote about this incredible soul:

https://dadsjourneywithed.blogspot.com/2017/12/and-sometimes-angel-appears.html

That is the story of a 10 year old boy with an incurable disease and only a short few months to live. That day two firetrucks, along with many firefighters, appeared in front of my apartment building. As I looked at this boy, who knew his time was going to be short, he was so animated! He was laughing, waving his arms, putting the fireman’s helmet on, he worked the siren, and a joy, a sweet, innocent wonder just emanated from him.  

All I could do was stand there and look at him.  His hair neatly combed, his face absolutely glowing.  His smile was this incredible, pure expression of the joy and love that surely must have been in his heart.  There were about 6 firemen around him … most had tears in their eyes and tried to look away so the boy would not see that. And in that boy’s presence… you could feel a divinity at work. And that boy allowed me to keep my grief at bay.

This year again, I was feeling the sting of loss particularly deeply. Frustration, dejection. I also knew I could not actively seek out inspiration and redemption with the naïve hope that I would find those attributes. Those blessings have to come to you. And I had lost hope that those blessings would find me and lift me from my despair.

I should have had more faith.

On one of my social media pages, The Book of Faces, an extensive thread appeared. It was started by a friend from a number of years ago, a friend and her husband with whom I had lost touch.

https://www.facebook.com/amey.b.strothers

There are 37 photos in this thread. And the topic? Her battle against cancer over the course of the past 14 months or so. And the photos were so open, so graphic. Photos which brought to life their journey. Photos of her hair (and his) being shaved and them lovingly touching their bald heads together. Her sitting through chemo treatments.

Photos of them at various hospitals. Her smiling, laughing, crying and… persevering.

Then, when you read her words about this journey.  A journey she brings to life as she lays bare her emotions. Overwhelming fear. Hurt. Anger. And then? Resiliency. Courage. Love. Belief. Strength. And Faith. Faith in her God. Faith in all around her.

And now, the doctors report her to be cancer free. I can only imagine that life must seem so incredibly new for her. That she feels reborn. That she feels free, unshackled from the burden of fear, of her own mortality.

From her incredible words, from those stirring photos we can find … inspiration. We can find love. We can find faith. We can find … a renewed purpose at Christmas.

Amey and Richard. You may not have known it at the time but you have brought to the world an incredible Christmas gift and allowed it to be shared. You manifested the very meaning of the first Christmas gift given to us. In addition, you have given us hope.

Hope, faith and love.

Thank you. Thank you for making me feel renewed inspiration and strength to persevere.

Merry Christmas.

Christmas Trees, Paganism and Messages from Angels

Christmas trees have their origin in paganism. The Christmas tree tradition emerged from the “sacred trees” of Northern European mythology such as “Yggdrasil,” the giant ash tree at the center of the Norse cosmos that holds all the worlds in its roots and branches.

Some people believe that trees have a unique life force of their own. In the book, The Hidden Life of Trees, the author, Peter Wohlleben summarizes the complexity of arboreal life: Trees communicate, feel pain, form complex communities, create microclimates, seem to have individual agency and are even known to keep relatives alive that can no longer feed themselves.

Some of the first tribes to occupy the North American continent add a spiritual dimension to the hidden characteristics of trees … they believe trees pray. Mary Siisip Geniusz, the author of the book, “Plants Have So Much to Give Us, All We Have to Do is Ask” explains that in the Anishinaabe tribe of North America, the balsam tree is named Ingiigido’aag, meaning, “She Stands at Prayer for Us.”

To the Anishinaabe, the tree’s beautiful fragrance is her prayer. The tree, from this perspective, is not merely a symbol but a being that enacts the effect we all notice: Families and communities uniting in the presence of a Christmas tree in a new way.

Eventually, Christianity took license over the Christmas tree. The tree is even referenced in the Book of Revelations, Chapter 22, Verses 1 – 2 wherein it states, “And he shewed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.”

Nonetheless, the pagan roots of the Christmas tree cannot be denied.

When Patti took me into her home seven (7) years ago [that is after she finally got past her initial inclination that I was a blowhard and that you could measure the depth of my soul with a thimble], I discovered her home was a repository for hundreds of books and writings on spiritual matters. Numerous books on Kabbalah were spread through many rooms. The Koran was present as was the Torah. The Book of Mormon. A 23 book series on the Zohar. Prayer books, Bibles both Christian and Jewish. There were Mezuzahs on some of the doors. Studies on faith, on the soul, on spirituality and religion.

My contribution?  Wanting to bring a pagan originated green tree ripped from Mother Earth into her pristine home every early December. Yes, since Patti is so much nicer and soulfully much more substantive than me (as all of our friends will attest), she allowed my request.

I have previously written about the significance of Christmas trees for me. I was raised in a family where artificial Christmas trees were not a consideration. The scent of the tree quickly filled our tiny house. But it was much more than that. The tree elevated not just our sense of smell, but it brought joy, love and light to our other senses as well. Glorious Christmas was near. And at Christmas, anything is possible!

As the years passed and the dreams and fantasies of childhood were left behind, our adult years came upon us. But still, for me the Christmas tree was eternal. It had to be real. It remained my symbol representing the endless possibilities of greater futures.

Then, little strangers a/k/a children came into our life. With ever growing numbers of friends and their Little Strangers, we would pile into first our cars, then onto full sized buses, and travel to Christmas tree farms to saw down our very own trees. The look of absolute wonder on our children’s faces were a time portal allowing us small glimpses into our past childhood. And for brief moments in time, we remembered.

The ravages of time took its toll … work, divorce, misplaced priorities … all life lessons teaching us that life is not easy. And it is not meant to be.

And yet, the Christmas tree remained. Decorating the tree became “a thing” for Morgan and me. Each year we strung popcorn and cranberry strands. Even as her eating disorder began to ravage her bodily organs, the tree remained our last vestige of a childhood that was gone … for both of us.

And then, she was gone.

That first year, less than 2 months after Morgan was taken was gut wrenching. As for a Christmas tree? Forget it! Why go through that pain? But sometimes decisions are removed from your control. Surrounded by pushy siblings, nieces and nephews, a tree found its way into my place … and remained in my life. I still recall the hours which elapsed, tears on my face, looking at the tree. And questioning life.

For the first time, I felt that a Christmas tree was mocking me. What did I have to be thankful for, or hopeful about? And yet, the tree remained, calling me, trying to get me to remember … to not give up all hope.

And so, I brought into Patti’s world, the disorder and dirt from those pagan Christmas trees.  The tree drops needles. It is dirty and messy… and worth every second and every adversity. It helps you … feel. It helps you remember that there are far greater things than your own existence.

And then, there was the special day when Satan’s Shrub made its appearance. On the day Patti and I were going to pick up a young lady who was being checked into ERC, just 2 hours before her flight arrived, the Christmas tree fell. Ornaments I deemed precious, shattered. I ranted about how it was NOT a Christmas tree, but it surely must be “Satan’s Shrub.” And then, a valuable life lesson was brought manifest. The only ornaments which broke were those purchased at stores. The precious ones hand made by my children… all survived. Precious memories. A truer message of Christmas, of love, of our children was brought to me. And yet, Satan’s Shrub had one last message to deliver in a future year.

Last year’s version of the Christmas tree was … alarming. Not because of the work that went into it, but because of the incredible ease every step of the way.

The tree was the very first tree we saw. No bad side which would need to face the wall. Perfect height. It was full. It was perfect. We got it on top of the car with no issues. Brought it home. The stand fit it perfectly the first time. This tree stood tall and straight. After cutting off the netting, the branches settled into perfect harmony. I put on the lights with no issues at all. Ornaments adorned the tree. And then, I found a perfect “tree topper.” A beautiful, Victorian looking angel. Naturally, it fit precisely.

All was right with the world. Or so I thought.

The next morning when I went to check how much water the tree had taken in, I was surprised to see the stand still full of water. The “perfect Christmas tree” was drying out. And quickly at that. The “perfect Christmas tree,” the easiest one I had ever had, was anything but perfect. With still almost two weeks before Christmas, this now fire hazard had to go. And so, it did.

I replaced the tree of course since Christmas was not yet here. It was the smallest tree I have had in years. And yet, somewhere along the way, just as it happened in a Charlie Brown Christmas, the tree began to transform.

Memories of Christmas tree farms, of the sweet innocence of children, the shouts of joy, the pure laughter from these soulful, little strangers, the sharing of the almost sacred ritual of decorating the tree with my daughter rose to the surface. Its scent was pure … and sublime.

And once again, another valuable lesson manifested. The Christmas tree which I had held so dear for all of these decades, was indeed merely a symbol, important yes, but just a symbol. Most importantly, it was the love surrounding the tree. The shared dear, precious time spent with loved ones. Spending time together.

This year, humor and perhaps the Deities conspired to make the 2024 version of the Christmas tree unique.

Once again, I induced Patti to allow me to destroy other aspects of the house by bringing into our lives… a Vizsla puppy.  Now Patti has not been a dog person as an independent adult. But, I had 2 Vizslas. Which means … I should have known better. But … NOOOOOOOOOO.

So, with Beauregarde being 11 months old in December and with Vizslas being high energy, I had a plan! Patti has a very sturdy small, square table. I would buy about a five (5) foot tree and place it on top of the table. In that way, the wood-headed dog could not micturate on the tree and perhaps the ornaments would be out of reach.

I immediately found the tree, poured two (2) Mambo Taxis down my gullet, went home and was determined to get the tree in place immediately. Well… there I go again.

I got the tree in the stand, got it up on the table, filled the base with water and as I was trying to anchor it… it wobbled, began to fall, the fall was partially impeded, water was spilled on the floor, I let loose with a tapestry of profanities that until this day is still hovering over the Trinity River, and the dog quickly yelped and ran into a different room.

A shot of tequila helped steady the nerves and calm the savage beast, the tree was more properly placed in the stand and stood up.  As Patti caught up on her slumber, I put the lights on the tree while the horrible Christmas movie, “Red One” was playing the background.

And then … I remembered.

I previously wrote about the young lady suffering from eating disorders who was being checked into ERC during the infamous Satan Shrub year.  The past week, she reached out to me.  With her permission, I can set forth what this incredible soul wrote:

“3 years ago today I landed in Texas and met you and Patti. The morning of The Great Christmas Tree Disaster.. which was a disaster and a headache for you but one of the most genuine acts of kindness anyone has ever done for me to this day.”

“I’ve spent my morning reflecting while I sit here at work and I just can’t help me feel emotional about how something much bigger than you or I was at play when you were brought into my life and then all the sudden I was in Texas at ERC.. basically losing my mind and hating all of existence.”

“My life is so amazingly different today and my time in Texas was the pivotal moment.. where the scales finally tipped for me was sitting at your dining room table with Patti.. she told me that I needed to become the CEO of my own life.. that if anyone was going to make my life better it would be me.”

“I took those words and ran and I have not stopped since. I have not needed to admit to treatment, I have maintained a healthy weight, I don’t struggle with mental illness nearly to the level I did, I work two jobs, take care of a home on 5 acres and raise my boys all by myself— I work at a treatment center for teen girls and in the counseling center at a high school.”

“My life is dedicated to helping really cool teenagers and I’ve found my passion in life. I’m back in school pursuing my degree, and my boys have their mom back and never have wonder if I’m going to show up for them.

“Your interaction in our lives may have been brief, but it was the most pivotal time in my entire life and I truly do not think I would be here today if it wasn’t for your kindness and willingness to help me at my lowest. I hope you both are doing so well. I think of you guys often! Thank you for everything 🤍.”

Symbols of Christmas. Books. Trees. Christmas movies. Gifts.

This year, all of these symbols cannot begin to touch my heart and my soul as this young angel has done.

I received my Christmas gift early this year. A gift that is a reminder that my beloved daughter, Morgan is still doing great work and is making this world a better place. I am just a place marker for her, for her acts of strength, of compassion, acts of love, of how her sacrifice is still guiding me to help others as I can.

What a precious, precious gift Allison gave to me. 

Thank you, Allison. Hug those boys of yours and keep inspiring others through your strength and courage.

Merry Christmas Allison.

And to all.