Merry & Bright

The holidays are not always the most wonderful time of the year.

There, I said it.

Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas time. I love all the lights and decorations. I love the buzz in the air, everything about the streets and the shops and the people just as Silver Bells describes them. I love listening to Christmas music (I mostly prefer the "old" versions--Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Burl Ives, Irving Berlin) and watching Christmas movies (Elf, The Santa Clause, Frosty, and Rudolph). I love drinking hot chocolate and not feeling bad about it. I love going to candlelight service on Christmas Eve, singing Silent Night in English, German, and Serbian; Joy to the World on Christmas morning. I love how, by and large, people seem to be just a little kinder, a little gentler, to their fellow humans. And I especially love spending time with family (tomorrow is celebration number two of four, not counting the one that we won't make.)

But, let me say it again: the holidays are not always the most wonderful time of the year. Not for everyone. Not every year.

Several years ago, I was working as a nursing assistant at the former West Allis Memorial Hospital. I was home from college on winter break and was pretty crabby, for who knows what reason. I started my shift and found out that I was taking care of a 47 year old man who was dying of cancer. 47 years old. That changed my whole perspective. I might have been having a bad day, but at least I wasn't 47 years old and dying of cancer. The terrible irony, of course, is that just a few years later, it was my own father who was 47 years old and dying of cancer. This year marks our eighth holiday season without him. The first one was the hardest, yes, but it wouldn't be truthful to say that they get easier. Anyone who has lost someone can tell you that.

Growing up, we spent Christmas Day by my dad's family. Now, we go by my wife's family in Evanston, so we don't make it to the Wilke celebration. There are some years where we could probably go, show up late as we swing back into town, and still be welcomed as if the party was just beginning. But the truth is, it's too hard. Because there is a hole there where my dad isn't. Surrounded by all his brothers and sisters, and my grandmother, something just seems to be missing. My dad isn't standing in the kitchen, having another cup of coffee and talking to his siblings. He's not down in the basement watching whoever is playing Santa this year hand out presents. He isn't sitting in the living room and talking about the books that he's been reading or the movies he's watched. Instead, there are ghosts of Christmases past: me, running around with my cousins, and stopping to check in with him every so often. Me curling up on his lap to show him the presents I got. Us getting ready to leave, and him reminding me to "Go give everyone a hug and kiss." I am surrounded by family, surrounded by love, and yet, I am most affected by the piece of the puzzle I can't have. A piece I no doubt took for granted for many years.

And this year there is whole other level that doesn't feel so wonderful. Those of you who have been following my journey, know that, had everything gone exactly right, I would have a tiny little baby that I would be taking to family gatherings this year. But that was an ending that I wrote for my story--not the one God had in mind. And after another failed attempt at getting pregnant last month, my anxiety is at an all time high when I think about getting together with well-meaning friends and family who, inevitably--and because they love us and care about us--will ask how it's going. And in light of everything, when someone asks that question, I don't know what exactly they want to know about. Do they read my blog, and know our journey? Are they blissfully unaware, and just want to know if I'm having a good year at school? Once again, I find myself surrounded by family and friends, surrounded by love, and yet, I am most affected by the piece of the puzzle I can't have.

It's been a rough couple of weeks. Emotionally I feel like I have been dragged through the mud. Not just dragged, but left there. Physically, my hip hasn't stopped hurting in months, despite lots of PT, and all I want to do is run. I'm frustrated. Mentally, my overthinking brain has had plenty of fodder for overthinking. Oh and also, ***

Walking bleary-eyed down the halls, seeing my colleagues and flashing the Hunger Games symbol.

The thing is, while I've just lain my personal life bare in order to illustrate my point, I'm not an isolated case. Many of us are trudging and crawling through another holiday season without a parent, a grandparent, an aunt, an uncle, a sibling, a friend, a spouse. For some, it is the first time. Collectively, we've lost a lot of damn good people this year. I've heard more sad stories about infertility and pregnancy and infant loss than I ever thought possible, many of them hitting way too close to home, to our circle. There are people out there who are really struggling financially. People who are taking care of aging parents, sick spouses, or 47 year olds dying of cancer. And so it goes, every year, just like that. Many of us are spending time thinking of good topics of conversation to derail the Spanish Inquisition we are bound to face at family gatherings, a barrage of questions about partners, marriage, and children. Topics that seem perfectly normal and appropriate...if only life were going in a perfectly normal and appropriate direction.

I'm not suggesting special treatment, or even censorship of celebrations, traditions, or conversation. But if we could reach a level of understanding about all of this (some of us are struggling), recognize that we are all human (we all struggle at some point), and just be kind to one another, perhaps we can make this time of year a little more wonderful, for those who aren't feeling it.

We talk a lot about building relationships, in education. Any educator worth their salt knows that having strong relationships with kids is the most significant factor in learning. So too, having strong relationships with others is a pretty significant factor in handling what life throws at you--even if it's not so merry and bright. While it is not necessarily feeling like the most wonderful time of the year, when I can step back and look at all the good things I have, I know I have so much to be grateful for.

I have friends who know me this well: ***

And I also find this to be true:

And I have this beautiful gem of a human who would go to the ends of the Earth to see that I am happy:

I have a loving and supportive family. A solid group of friends I can rely on. I have a great class of kids, and a school full of coworkers who work together every day to make sure that we do the best job we can to take care of them, and of each other. I have a roof over my head and a warm

place to sleep at night. And every morning I am blessed enough to get up out of that bed, and take care of myself and my loved ones to the fullest extent of my abilities. I've traveled. I've gone skydiving. I've had many opportunities to do interesting and exciting things. I live in a place where my vote and my voice matter.

So while it's not always the most wonderful time of year, there are some wonderful things in it. And while it's often hard to look at things from that place, I'm going to keep trying.