I went to two wakes this week, one for my father’s cousin E and one for one of my father’s best friends, P. The second wake was larger and had a winding line, like a gruesome ride at Disney culminating in a coffin and the grieving family.
While waiting in line, my father discovered he knew a woman next to us, and they started a conversation. They both had known P (and his wife, who suffers from debilitating medical conditions herself) for a long time.
At one point, my father said to the woman: One thing about P’s wife- no matter what, she never complains. A virtue. A dying breed of person. A different generation. Something. And it’s true. She doesn’t complain, though she’s had plenty to complain about. She’s as strong and as brave as they come.
Later I was talking to another of my father’s friends. He and his wife were asking about Jonah, and I started to cry a little – I had already been crying – and then I just stopped myself and smiled. I related the story of the conversation my father’d just had about the widow – she never complains – and I told him, “Man, they’re never going to say that about me. All I do is complain!”
“Yeah, at your wake they’re gonna say: one thing about her, she complained all the time,” he answered, and we laughed.
com·plain (from dictionary.com)
verb (used without object)
1. to express dissatisfaction, pain, uneasiness, censure, resentment, or grief; find fault: He complained constantly about the noise in the corridor.
2. to tell of one’s pains, ailments, etc.: to complain of a backache.
3. to make a formal accusation: If you think you’ve been swindled, complain to the police.
I complain a lot. I become bitter. And I get jealous. Especially at this exact time of year, what with all the “holiday joy” of families and their regular kids. I thank God for everything I have, and yet I can’t help the lump in my throat when I go on Facebook and see all the Christmas cookie recipes, the children participating in traditional activities with Advent calendars, lighting menorahs, captured in happy color-coordinated moments for Christmas cards, decorating, sitting on Santa’s lap, etc. etc. etc. I know a lot of it is illusion, and there is suffering all over the place. I know – or I think I know.
If I had no kids at all it would be different. If I had other children it would be different. Different-better? Different-worse? I don’t want any more glimpses into all the awesome little family Christmases. God forgive me but I don’t. I should probably just stop looking at all the Facebook posts for a while. Better yet, I should get over myself and focus on being happy for others.
Because of my circumstances and not really from some religious fervor, I focus more on Joseph and Mary – her laboring and giving birth to Jesus, and laying him in a manger. I love the idea of a miracle-star in the sky, and the little drummer boy, and three wise men. (Surely there was at least one wise woman?) All the animals. Shepherds. Everything about it. A Lord born poor. As poor as poor gets. It’s amazing if you really think about it, whatever your beliefs.
Of course I love that there will be presents for Jonah-Boo, and I hope he enjoys them. Andy will bring him up to my mom’s, just like on Thanksgiving. We can hope for a calm Christmas, but it’s always the spin of a roulette wheel. Place your bets.
I wonder if Mary complained. The Bible doesn’t tell us nearly enough about Mary, if you ask me.
Yesterday I took this snippet of video to try to perhaps capture a little more of how Jonah acts and what he understands. We give him black soda and other treats on Saturdays she says defensively.
Boo was pretty good, doling out his kisses and hugs with giggling smiles and lots of requests for car ride. But he did have his bath and we squeezed in some Train on TV and some Oompa Oompa.
Then I came home and there were the Facebook posts of happy children hanging ornaments and helping bake gingerbread men, and the jealousy rises like bile. I see it, I know it’s there, I know it’s dumb, I hate it.
I choke on it.
So this morning Father N sent me an e-mail from El Salvador, where he is working for CFCA. (It’s the only charity of its kind where you can sponsor an elderly person if you want). Father has his stipend check sent directly to Friends of Fontaine in Haiti. I have a feeling he is very inspired by Pope Francis. What a wonderful thing.
Anyway, here is the short video he attached…he met this particular woman during his stay and danced with her at one of the senior events.
I don’t much feel like complaining anymore.
I can certainly feel your anguish this time of year I feel it as well. Holidays of any kind makes my grief stricken heart hurt so badly. Losing my oldest daughter made the holidays senseless to me and then my youngest with her bi-polar and her hate of me keeps her and my grandson away the middle one and I fight all the time …why? I don’t know she has issues with me but refuses to tell me just tells me stay out of her business…so yea I despise the holidays. I refuse to have Thanksgiving at my house anymore as it was the last holiday spent with my daughter, it hurts to bad. See I too complain, I figure God gave us these burdens because we are strong enough to handle them (although I am not really strong) so He can’t expect us to not complain. God Bles you Amy and I hope you can have a somewhat MERRY CHRISTMAS. Oh and I loved seeing Jonah and I ordered his christmas cards, sent them out and many called to ask where I got them so I sent them the link. hugs {{{}}}
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Amy, I just have one try at keeping you on Facebook, so here goes: pictures are deceiving. I always knew that in my head, but not until I see a particular picture did I see it with my heart. My kids and I were in Rochester for my niece’s wedding. Of course pictures were taken. I found the one of the three of us, and almost cried. There was me, probably 25 pounds less than I am now, I have too much make-up on to hide the under eye darkness, and my hair was dull and in need of a good haircut. Brian, who ate his problems away, was fat and full of acne at about twelve, and Michael, already in full drug-use at thirteen, so skinny it looks as if I could put my hands around his waist and they would meet. Not only is he skinny, the area from his upper lip to his nose was red and cracked. Cocaine. But we all smiled, and were so happy for everyone’s perfect lives (Not!), It was one of the worst days. Just after that Michael blew his nostrils out, and was sent to his second re-hab. I don’t want this to be Oh-Poor Martie, and realize it is becoming so, but just that I don’t want those pictures to fool you. There might be tears right behind those smiling eyes. I love you!
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I can’t stand a lot of the holiday posts or many people’s Facebook posts in general. Especially with the families who seem to “live” for Facebook…always with the perfect hair, the perfect makeup, the perfect children, the perfect activity, the perfect…everything. It’s all bullshit, That’s one of the reasons I posted my (was supposed to be ironic) unshowered, puffy-eyed selfie. That’s real. The ones trying so hard to show how perfect their lives are, in my opinion, the ones who have the most they are trying to hide. I read something once that has really resonated with me:
“One reason we struggle with insecurity: We’re comparing our behind-the-scenes to everyone else’s highlight reel.” Steven Furtick
I have to remind myself of this a lot. I also have to work really hard not to wallow in self-pity or heavy feelings of inadequacy when I buy into the illusions of their lives people try to portray over social media. And I also high-five the Universe that I never got stuck having to do that awful Elf-on-a-Shelf nonsense!!! Gag me with the spoon that I just DIDN’T just make 57 batches of holiday cookies with! 😉 XOXO
J
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Thanks for this. I am proud to say I have no elf on any shelf, nor homemade holiday cookies, and I appreciate your nod of agreement!
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