An Unexpected Gift

I woke up this morning with a dream teetering between sleep and consciousness. Dreams for me are always fleeting – I rarely remember them. This morning’s dream was different – it wasn’t so much a dream as it was a memory being relived, a memory of something I hadn’t thought about for years. It left me wondering why.

I used to think I had an excellent memory but I’m starting to realize it’s actually only vivid – what I remember I remember clearly, what I forget I also do in the extreme, once something is forgotten it’s truly gone. But because something isn’t thought about doesn’t mean it’s been forgotten. Such was the case this morning.

In my dream I was at a funeral. I was eulogizing an aunt who had lived a very long and happy life – I wasn’t sad, I was celebrating her life. At the same time I was trying to explain something to a group of children who were feeling more than just sad.

My aunt was over ninety, the group of children were her great nieces and nephews. We had gathered to say a final goodbye to a lovely old woman who lived her life fully until her very last breath – she had gone to bed one night and passed while she slept. She’d surprised us grown-ups but hadn’t shocked us. The kids were another story.

The kids loved their great aunt, she had been part of every event in their lives for as far back as they could remember; birthday parties, graduations, Christmases; she’d brought her famous, but not favorite, coleslaw to every family gathering for years and now she was gone. Through tears each child had told me about the things they regretted, confessing their guilt for not being more attentive.

In my dream I could see the tear streaked faces of those kids and feel the tremor of my determination to ease the guilt they felt. The tremor disappeared as I began to read the words I had written more for those children than the woman I was eulogizing.

My aunt had been thrilled to be part of our busy and active family, glad to know there was always a seat at the table for her. I told the kids that sometimes it’s a gift to be taken for granted, to be such a constant in someone’s life that it is assumed you will always show up. There is a strange comfort in knowing you have become a guarantee.

I woke up with this thought this morning and have been dragging it with me all day wondering why a eulogy written so long ago would insist on being remembered right now. And then it dawned on me – it’s Christmas, the hap-hap-happiest season of all – only this year it’s not. This year there will be many empty seats at tables around the world, people will be remembering and regretting and maybe feeling guilty about the things they took for granted. Even our traditional Christmas is being mourned.

I can’t be the only person feeling like I should have paid closer attention last year or the year before that or to all the Christmases past. I should have appreciated them more. Perhaps my dream was trying to remind me that we shouldn’t be hard on ourselves – maybe this Christmas we should focus on remembering, just remembering, and forget the regret . Maybe I’m supposed to remind myself that it was, and still is, okay to take some things for granted, okay to feel comfortable in tradition. Maybe an appreciation of those past Christmases is the unexpected gift this year.

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