Christmas, holiday, hanukkah, whatever you celebrate, it's all good. Isn't it?
I guess that depends on many things, who you are with, what you are doing, what your memories of Christmas are, what you'd like them to be like in the future. Is it always the perfect time of year? Does it always hold the best of memories? I'm asking myself that question. And that question is almost impossible to answer. Growing up, there were good Christmas memories, and yes, there were bad Christmas memories. I had no control over what my Christmases were like when I was a child. For very private reasons, many of them were filled with both anxiety and excitement. A hard combination for a small child to understand. We have no control over our experiences as a child, nor our memories of those experiences.
Then, we grow up, to create memories of a family of our own making, wanting to make those memories good for our child, or children. Except there were always other family members to consider, and sometimes, over-the-top personalities could cloud even the best laid plans. So, how did I do as a parent? I guess that would be up to my child to answer. This is what I know, however. I did the best I could, with what I had, to make them special. What other family members may or may not have done, I still had no control over that. Was there disappointment? Yes. Was there joy? Yes. And so it goes. We all just do the best we can, and hope that more times than not, it's good.
So, I come to the present, and what it's like celebrating Christmas when you are living with cancer. It's not something you push aside for one month of the year. It doesn't allow that. There are still blood tests, there are still chemo treatments. There are still cancer marker numbers, that will thumb their nose at Christmas and rise anyway. So in competition with what to get so-and-so for Christmas, is "what treatment should we try next?" More decisions to be made, more stress to deal with. The energy leaves, even though you want it to stay. One minute it's there, the next minute it's just gone. The thoughts that are on your mind don't take the month off for fun and merriment if you are still in treatment during this 'special' time of year.
Please understand, this is not about taking a break and throwing a self-imposed pity party. Rather, it's about explaining and understanding how the most wonderful time of the year isn't always so wonderful for the thousands of people on this earth who struggle with terminal illness. We still deck the halls as best as we can. We put a smile on, plan activities, and go with the best Christmas spirit we can muster. Because it does matter, and it is that important.
But sometimes, when we are alone we cry. And when we cry, it's not because we are not strong. It's because we have had to be strong for so long.
Not wanting to end on a poignant note, I reveal one thing does not and will not ever change, one thing that always remains true for me. Christmas is about the smallest gift ever given to man and as someone once said, it didn't come with a bow. The smallest gift that grew into a man who wanted to leave one gift for mankind, and one gift only: to teach us how to live. When I remember that, I don't have to force a smile, or a feeling of peace inside. It just comes.
So I sincerely wish you all a Merry Christmas...all those I love and hold dear, as well as those who walk this road with me. I promise to remember and celebrate the things and people in my life that are still good and dear to me, whether near or far way. Whether healthy, or struggling. And to remember the teachings of that one tiny gift, many years ago. I hope you will do the same. That is my Christmas wish for you.
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