When the first chord on the piano was struck, a hush began to cascade from the front of the hall towards the back. Working its way, through my cozy middle location. It was undoubtedly a melodious announcement and notification, of the start of service. I stared dolefully, at the pronounced yet significantly empty pews. Had the haunting echo of dark disturbance and terror, robbed the joyful resonance of yuletide? Meanwhile, the clergy at the front podium. Indicated with his hands, a firm but polite directive for all to rise. A familiar call, to sing buoyant hymns. Exuberant carols, that were befitting of a festive and mirthful season.
Though I stood on my feet, like everyone else. My head hung limply, while I distractedly searched the book in my hands for the right page. I knew the songs by heart, of course. But my heart was at the moment, preoccupied. Heavy and cluttered, with an imposed and unwanted ache. Naturally as if on cue, my shoulders followed suit. Slumping in near and undefined defeat. The sweet refrain of heavenly harmony, permeated the atmosphere. As my mind took a distant stroll and began to wander….
The current overhead music, in the homely cafe. Was indeed a blatant contrast, to what I was reading. “It’s the most wonderful time of the year…” Proclaimed the singer, ever so cheerfully. As merry and uplifting tunes, wafted through the otherwise heavy air. Sunny notes filtered through and saturated the room's ambiance, un-apologetically. Graciously and generously, imbuing a benevolent invitation.
An offer of joy in place of agony and a trading of angst for rest. Who could or would reject such a pleasant recommendation? I for one knew, that I could not. Reject that is, any form of sanity or consolation. Especially, at that particular moment.
When the aggressive and relentless strike of terror, grabbed at me. Reaching unexpectedly and un-welcome, through the news-pages in my hand. Slamming me instantly with grief, all in the absence of a warning. Was it now possible, I wondered. That some child will never again, feel the protective and loving arms of their father this Christmas. That the woman cooking that dish, with her favorite recipe. In anticipation of a duly planned family reunion. Would get an unexpected, heart wrenching and fatal call. Informing her, that this Christmas. Would be spent weeping and mourning, not celebrating and laughing.
This holiday season, would drastically confer her with a different title. A new title of 'widow'. A man goes about his job with diligence. Glad that he can afford, all that his children have requested for Christmas. But alas, in the same place of chosen labor and stewardship. Doing the natural, normal and necessary. He will without provocation on his part, slip into a disruptive demise. Never affording the opportunity, to take one more halting breath. Howbeit bid his children, a spontaneous and unscheduled goodbye.
These were also humans like us, going on with their lives. Participating, not only in activities that were harmless. But cherished pastimes and anticipated diversions. There were merely reliving and reenacting, traditions of happiness and glee. Not demanding nor harassing others, in their choice and momentary occupations. Yet disaster would still strike. Leaving in its wake, a barbaric, purposeless and horrific assault. Plastering mementos of grief and mourning, in place of cheery ornaments and blinking lights. My heart bled. While my head struggled to process, such vile vigilance. And then, as if my empathy induced injury was not enough. There was a further threat, to stop all assembling and singing.
The pleasantly jarring notes of ‘Carol of the Bells’, startled me out of my morning reverie. Here I was, undeterred by incessant provocations. Evidently not dissuaded, by dreadful and vicious ultimatums. This was a significant season of joy. Flanked by observers who gave, received and made merriment. Their festivity would not only serve them, but would readily overflow to any that wished to join. Peace and joy, was a recurrent theme at this time of the year. The perpetration and infliction of death and destruction, was as ugly as it was savage. I sighed in disappointment, while I simultaneously ripped a card. The stationery, had arrived in my mailbox the other day. It had read 'Merry X-mas'. Who the blazing flames, was X? Maybe X was responsible, for the brutish erosion of an otherwise happy holiday.
I lifted my head, to see the choir director. He was still waving his hands, to obviously empty pews thought I. But oh no, I was wrong this time. My face immediately broke, into a glow and a smile. There were now people everywhere. And even many more, were streaming in. Men, women and children, impeccably and festively draped in beautiful regalia, outfits and attires. Joining to lift their voices, along with the ongoing merry tunes. So just like me, here was a defiant, undaunted and un-intimidated group of victors. Indeed, this was what victory looked like. A resilience, in the face of fiendish and deadly opposition. And not the result of unprovoked, sneaky and brute bully-ism. My soul was lifted, as was my voice. When ‘Handel’s Messiah’ hit the roof….
Yes the Grinch did steal Christmas, even for a tad bit. However we the peace lovers, defiantly took it back! And then we ate sugar coated cookies, as we drank chilled eggnog. And we lived happily ever after. I hope we did. I sincerely hope we did.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.
PS: Remember it is still Christmas until it is New Years.
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