Cheese straws, and a slice of life.....

The phone rang at 1:45 A.M.....after the last few days, that is NOT something you want to hear. John and I sat up in terror, and he grabbed for the phone. We were so relieved when it was a misdialed call. On the downside, that pretty much did me in for sleeping. I dozed off and on, but gave up the ghost well before dawn, and put on the coffee... After I drink this cup, I will finish up the sourdough cinnamon rolls, and pack them away to take to my Brother and Sister In Law tomorrow....then I will start on some cheese straws I think, and maybe after that babiest girl and I will make some peppermint patties (recipe on my Pinterest...they are divine). Strange comfort food I know, but it's what sounds right to me...In my experience, in times of deep sorrow and grief, you may not be able to think about eating a ham sandwich, or chicken and vegatables, but you can always tolerate a cheese straw.....College Boy will be home later today, and I can not wait to have my arms around him - I have hated that he was so far away, grieving by himself, this first sudden loss of someone young and seemingly healthy - someone that you sat beside while eating Turkey and laughing... someone who was there, and now is not. It has been so hard watching the girls grapple with this same issue, and I have searched for words of explanation and comfort - words that feel woefully inadequate. I started putting out the Christmas yesterday...don't know why - I just woke up with a burning need to do so. I always start with the mantle in the den. First the Santas, then the fresh greens, then the lights.As I was pulling the Santas out of their storage box, I was transported to the first time I decorated a house for Christmas - my Childhood home, in the days before my Mother died...December 15, 1978....I was a teenager, but I had watched my Mother every year, as she carefully made arrangements, adorned candelabra's, and hung the mistletoe.... I was able to replicate her designs, almost to a tee. I was comforted to know that just days later, as the stretcher was pushed through the house to the waiting ambulance, she asked them to stop, so she could see the "Christmas". My Dad told me how proud she was of all that I had done, and how much it meant to her, to see it one last time. Yesterday, some 34 years later, I was once again decking the halls with my companions of sorrow and tears... The first Santa to be put in place is one that John bought me many years ago - It is a bust of Santa smoking his pipe. I fell in love with it, because it looks just like my Dad, when he donned the old red suit, year after year. Next, the trio of Santas that my Sister In Law painted for me in the early days of my marriage - she is so very talented, and I have always envied her abilities. Next, perhaps the most meaningful Santa of all. I bought it the Christmas I found out I was pregnant with College Boy. I was walking the flea market in our town, and was drawn to a booth, where a woman was selling her wares. She had a baby strapped to her back, and a toddler eating crackers and gnawing on a book  in a playpen. We struck up a conversation, as I looked at her Folk Art. (Folk Art is one of my greatest loves...) She was a college educated woman, determined to live her dream of staying at home with her Children. To help supplement her Husbands income, she sold her paintings on the weekends. I shared with her my happy news, and we talked at length about our common dream - to live a life focused on the raising of our children. She inspired me, and showed me that although it might be hard, it was possible, to have the luxury of being a stay at home Mom - and for many years, I walked this woman's path - selling paintings and beeswax candles at a weekend market, moonlighting at the Dinner Theatre, adding my little bit of money to the household - making up for the rest by learning to be frugal. Every time I look at that Santa, I am filled with gratitude for that chance encounter, and for the woman's advice and encouragement. After Folk Art Santa is in place, Celtic Santa follows, and then it is a free for all - until the mantle looks just right. Then, on to the angels in the Living Room, the Nativity in the Music room, the table and chandelier in the Dining Room, and back to the den - to put the lights on the tree - a task that needs finishing this morning (There may or may not have been some kitchen words involved with the stringing of the lights last night, causing me to leave them for later) - then everything will be ready to decorate the tree tonight, when all five of us are home. It is a strange juxtaposition, this.....the preparing of funeral food, and the decorating for Christmas. How to make sense of it? How to make it a life lesson that sticks for my kids? I want them to see that you have to keep on keeping on....that grief is a part of this life we lead, but that it doesn't have to define you....that none of us are promised tomorrow, so we make the best of today, and wake up - trying again. I want them to know, in their heart of hearts, that at the end of life - whenever that comes -  the things that will have mattered the most are not things, but relationships - family, and those in our circle that we love - the people that we helped, the lives that we touched, the laughter that we shared, the tears of compassion we cried.... I want them to know that life is like decorating for Christmas in the midst of sorrow and tragedy - finding the hope, in the presence of despair. Tomorrow will come - we will eat our cheese straws, and face each other with our sadness and inadequate words....it will be a day of spoken and unspoken prayer, of laying to rest our dreams for one we loved....a day for giving full reign to the grief that is ours. A day for family....a day to to look to the coming of the Christ Child - to embrace Christmas, and it's promise of hope and peace and light, made manifest in the darkness....a day for funeral food...cheese straws, and a slice of life.