Christmonday

O Come, O Come 

Sophie is usually sleeping on my legs, or impatiently meowling in my face for breakfast, but this morning, she was curled round herself on my chest, head over my heart, purring quietly. It's an unusual way for us to awaken, and I'm not sure I remember it ever happening like that before.

I lay in the dark, listening to the cold, Kentucky rain on a lonesome Christmas morning and sighed. "Who's my Best Girl? Merry Christmas, Soph."  I gave her shoulder a rub as she stretched and sprang toward the kitchen. Then, to myself, as I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the dizziness to stop, "Just another fucking Monday."

I took my meds, and threw a cup of yesterday's coffee into the microwave. Gave Sophie and the birds their breakfast, and sat down in the glider-rocker with a hot mug at my side, a warm cat on my lap, and a chilly draft in my heart. My family were spread out all over the map, different states, different time-zones. Different lives. Geography, death, divorce and despair wedged us apart.

No prayers or meditations this morning. Just me and my coffee and my cat, wondering how many more of these silent Christmas mornings we would spend together. 

I know a black mood coming down the river when I see one, and I was determined not to let this one swamp Sophie's and my little Yule-tide boat. I grabbed up my tablet and logged on. Classic misstep. When you are feeling really bad about life, you can always find a reason to feel worse online. YouTube's wicked mathematics have no variable for counteracting Christmas Blues, so my feed was worthless full of exercise tips and political grievances and sports - basically whatever I've clicked on in the last 24 hours. With more than a little dread, I clicked over to Facebook, expecting to find lots of sad posts from sad people who could not contain their broken hearts on Christmas morning. 

Why did I turn there? Misery loves company? A chance to add my voice to the unhappy chorus? To snort at the naive believers and the cynical manipulators? I can't say what I expected... but I found a surprise. 

Christmas.

There were pictures of trees and packages. Photos of families and candle lit services. Remembrances of loved ones and stories of times long past. Plans for the hours that would soon follow. Meals. Games. Naps. 

Gently replacing the cold wind in my chest, like a wisp of smoke from smoldering frankincense, Christmas crept in. Here in my squalid little flat, amid the roaches and the drug dealers and the screaming kids and the frightened parents and the worried cops and the disturbed domestics and the grumpy old men with their birds and their cats - somehow or other - Christmas came just the same. 

In that strange moment, I felt the world all around me - still far from perfect or peaceful - but somehow just a little brighter than usual. I felt children waking up early and parents shuffling to turn on lights and coffee makers. I heard songs being played by Alexa and Siri and Mariah, and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Big brothers smiled knowingly at parents as little sisters thanked Santa for getting just the gift they wanted. Somewhere, a night shift worker heard a snatch of melody and a night traveller caught a glimpse of starlight and an expectant father had a dream and new mother kept it all silently in her heart. 

And it was Christmas.

It wasn't all fixed. It wasn't all OK. 

But somehow, it was just a little better.

Less lonely.

More hopeful.

Christmas.

I am more grateful than I can say for the folks who shared their joy with me today. Our miseries will be fine without us for a few more hours. They will be waiting in the morning. But for now...

Let's give joy a chance.

Merry Christmas, y'all.