Broken Ornament

I think I know now, why some people don’t like Christmas music. This year Christmas music breaks my heart, gets to the most vulnerable part of me, breaks down my emotional defenses. Christmas music reminds me of my own boulevard of broken dreams.

I see that my last post was the day before my son Tyson passed. Tyson, born on Pearl Harbor Day, brought home in a Christmas stocking, self-proclaimed King of Christmas, was one of my partners-in-crime for Christmas. So much of his enjoyment of Christmas was hoarded and owned by him — he loved to collect Christmas stockings, he was entirely jealous–for years–of his younger brother getting a “hipster” Santa hat. He wanted all Santa hats to be his.

As I cleaned our apartment here in Rome, I asked Google to play some Christmas music.

“I’ll Be Home for Christmas” broke me. “You can plan on me,” and I was sobbing. “I can’t bear it, I can’t bear to decorate, I don’t wan’t to celebrate,” I felt my emotions sobbing out to my brain. But that’s not true little momma-heart. You will bear it, you will decorate another year, you will celebrate with every sip of eggnog latte, every loving glance at his brothers. The bookend brothers, oldest and youngest are even more precious to me now, with their eccentricities, rantings, and desperate fight for purchase on what brings meaning to their lives.

The grief, the memories are like broken vintage ornaments, the beautiful glass ornaments, shiny and dangerous. They can be repurposed, but they can be dangerous, they can cut. Be careful when handling.