Mama Williams' Christmas Carol

It seems like yesterday. I was buzzing through the cramped aisles of Sprouts. Somewhere between the gluten free flours and the case of meat-like products. I remember I had limited time before I had to pick up Moses from school, and in the meantime I needed to purchase some safe treats for one of the dozens of holiday parties that week. I think it was the class party. Or maybe the speech party, or youth group party, or December family birthdays. Who knows. My cell phone rang. I hesitated. Should I answer or just focus? It was my mother-in-law, Susan. I picked up.

"I decided what I would like us to do together," she skipped the introductory phone call rituals and dove right in.

"Um...ok..." I said, tilting my head, as I reached past someone for the Enjoy Life non-dairy chocolate chips.

We had decided that each of the siblings' immediate families would do something special separately with Mom and Dad Williams this year leading up to Christmas. And this felt a little weighted. Dad Williams had recently been diagnosed with an aggressive form of prostate cancer, and was already feeling the impact of the treatments. Having just lost my dad two months earlier, I recognized the importance of making family memories. And yet, I held my breath, hoping that all the pieces of our schedule would fit.

"I want to go to see The Christmas Carol together," she announced. 

This was mid-December already. I had recently scanned the websites with this same thought. Tickets were not available in abundance.

Susan filled my silence. "It's just that I know it's one of your favorite stories ever and you used to read the book every single year..."

She wasn't wrong.

"And," she continued, "Moses is really into theater right now. so....?"

I bit my lip and sighed. Just a little.

"It's just that I'm afraid it might be too late..." I said. "But I'll check on it right away."

Sitting in the school pick up line fifteen minutes later I confirmed my suspicions. I scrolled through link after link. One seat here at a matinee. Two seats there at the 8 p.m. show. Definitely nothing for 6 Christmas Carol fans who didn't set up their December calendars in July. 

"I'm so sorry," I explained over the phone as I stirred the pasta sauce for dinner later. 

"Whelp," she said, not rattled. "I am declaring it now, that NEXT year we WILL see The Christmas Carol. Mark this down," she half chuckled.

And then there was no next year.

Had we still had fun? Absolutely. In fact, we had an absolutely magical, last-minute trek through the Merry Mainstreet festivities in downtown Mesa instead. There were pictures with Santa by the big tree. There was food truck funnel cake to eat and a giant Menorah to see. We tried something called Glogg for the first time. Without the alcohol of course. After all we're Nazarene/Baptist. But she became obsessed with recreating the recipe in a way that would be safe for Moses by Christmas. And, she surprised us by taking the stage for a duet with Moses. Jingle Bells...the full version. She LOVED to sing Christmas carols almost as much as I love to watch and read Dickens' Christmas Carol year after year. The night did not disappoint.

And yet.

And yet, when I stumbled upon the email from Hale Theater reminding past customers that they still had tickets available for The Christmas Carol a few weeks ago, I had that feeling of air going out of my lungs that's become a familiar part of this year of grief. 

This week in his advent sermon, Pastor Ryan talked about feeling two emotions at  once. The paradox of waiting with hope even in the darkness for the restoration of creation. 

That's how this holiday feels. A paradox of mixed emotions. So much joy. So much gratitude. And yet so much missing. 

It's not Psychology Rocket Science to realize holidays can make grief more acute, even if we feel like we've healed or been alright for awhile. This isn't my first experience with the traditions and the full sensory experience of the season to conjure up memories and unearth buried emotions. But there's something quite unique about the loss of the matriarch at Christmas. The queen. The memory keeper. Especially if they're the one who works so very hard to bring everyone together and make Christmas all that it should be...all that Dickens wrote about. 

Susan didn't just love Christmas. Susan embodied Christmas. Christmas embodied her. I am not being dramatic. It's a closed case...she was literally the biggest fan of Christmas I have ever met. Her birthday AND anniversary were the week before Christmas. Most people hate that. She ADORED that. From the time I met Dan in 2000 until the world took a leave of absence in 2020 we went caroling every year. It was awkward, and embarrassing and also absolutely marvelous. Especially when she went solo with her "Twelve Days AFTER Christmas" song that made everyone laugh. We typically visited the homes of some of her hospice patients, or families she'd grown close to who had lost a loved one. We expanded to some of the shut-ins in our family or people we knew going through an especially difficult time. For years I'd do little more than mouth words, but by the time I'd passed 30 I was owning it...ugly sweater, Santa hat and all. 

Susan wanted to do it ALL. Gingerbread houses with the grandkids, hosting a table at the church Christmas dinner, watching all the movies, usually together. Especially if there were Muppets involved. Her decorations were epic. In fact, she had so many snowmen figurines that I was still wrapping them in newspaper and sticking them away in boxes the week before her funeral. 

Was she like this year round? This....extra...? Not really. Susan was a pretty low-maintenance woman. But she believed in the spirit of Christmas. 

Our Christmas is full of artifacts this year. Testaments to what we're missing. When I think of my own emptiness my heart breaks for Dad Williams, for Dan, and Doug, for Matt and Sarah. She has shaped my last 23 years. But they've never known a Christmas without her. Yet, I know what she'd still say, if she were here in our shoes:

“I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach!”

Charles Dickens