Advent Memories

Yesterday Emi and I shopped at Laurel Ridge in Gonzales
our tradition on the Friday after Thankisgiving.
They sell elegant, beautiful things there
especially at Christmas time.
On a table by itself without any fanfare or glitz
sat a small ornanment, shiny and golden.
It was a lion with a lamb beside it
and that triggered memories in me
of the year before last when Ron and I had been there together,
he in his wheelchair in the driveway
me inside and outside
and store clerks hovering around and bringing him selections
that would fit a small tree in his room.
He wanted a lion and a lamb ornament for Ginny.
She collects them
and he wanted to give her one.

He made his selection there in the driveway.
The clerks went inside and he burst into tears.
"What is it?" I asked him.
"I'm so alone," he said. "I have no family. They're all gone."
"You have me," I told him. "I'm not leaving."
"I couldn't bear it if something happened to you.
You're all I have."
"Don't worry," I said, "I won't leave you."

It is difficult to live without roots.
When your family is dead and you alone survive them
there is a gaping wound
like a large tree that has been uprooted
and exists forever with the shock of it
until it finally caves in and dies.
I suppose some trees go on to thrive
and others just live with the shock.

On some primal level
it was that enormous shock that welded Ron and me together.
It surfaced every year at Christmas time,
our longing for people long gone
our sadness over being left behind
and the weight of living this life.
We coped the best we could, he with alcohol and cigarettes
me with food and religion
to numb the silent suffering that never left our hearts
and bound us together,
and never more than Advent when the longings broke through the veil.