Two short years ago, on Christmas Eve Eve, James and I each had in one earbud as he lay in the pre-op bed at Stanford. We had time for a ten minute meditation at most. We took deep, steady breaths. And we listened to something about picturing our future selves, looking back on this moment with new wisdom and perspective; imagining our future selves as having gotten through the present moment. We tugged out our earbuds and then a squeeze and a kiss and they wheeled off my Superman.
Two days ago, on Christmas Eve Eve, I found myself at Whole Foods with the boys, and the rest of town. We got out to the parking lot and I was loudly singing the instrumental version of Carol of the Bells. We get to the car and Nate and I are laughing and I have a moment of recognition. It’s Christmas Eve Eve and I’m parked in the exact spot where I cried in the darkness of my car as I explained the diagnosis to my brother for the first time. I remember him rhetorically asking a question I will never forget, try as I might, “What if there is no James?” My heart heaves with the memory.
A momentary pause of appreciation.
And then my future self kicked-in and Nate and I continued with a crescendo of vocal instrumentals…
Hark how the bells,
Sweet silver bells,
All seem to say,
Throw cares away
Merry, Merry, Merry, Merry Christmas,
Merry, Merry, Merry, Merry Christmas
La la la la, La la la la, La la la la, La la la lah