Christmas Tree

The Christmas tree was so old and dry that the needles fell to the ground like rain when I slowly took each ornament off one by one.Feeling the part of the Grinch or Scrooge every year it does not get any easier putting this holiday to rest. I start with the feeling, it comes over me suddenly and swiftly. That tree needs to come down and it needs to come down within hours. I can no longer take it any longer. I remember that my mother always told me that she was that type of person that would be friends with you for a long time and she would forgive most ills but when it came down to it, it could just be a small little thing but one day she might just walk away. For the most simple thing. The tree gave me a little shudder as I walked through the door tonight, lost one too many peddles and that was it. The gig was up. I tucked Jonah in tonight even though he prefers his dad at night time and we got to read Rumplestilskin and Jack and the Beanstock and I realize that he tolerates me in these affairs. Like two days ago when we took the kids to the Museum of Science and got tickets to see Big Bird at the Planatarium and we were the only family in a sold out show that was not under the age of five. In fact our children, ages 12, 10 and 7 were quite blatantly older. And still Jonah oohed and ahhed at the show and answered Big Bird back when he shouted out things like "Which star do you think that is Elmo?" and sang Twinkle Twinkle little star. Nora told me a few weeks ago that she knew about Santa and I died a little inside. She made me promise that I would not tell her father who she suspects still believes and I agreed and I meant it.I still haven't told him. I put the tree out on the front lawn and looked up at the sky and watched as tiny white flakes touched my nose and my hair and my daughter looked out at me from her bedroom, so beautiful and bold, 12 and growing more and more in to a little woman everyday. She looked sweet and thoughtful and translucent to me. I could see in to her and around her and I wanted to apologize for all of the things that I have learned this week and this past year and a half. I want her to hold all the hope and dreams that she has now and to keep those flames hot and ready and yet I know how life happens and how painful it can be and will be for her and for all of us. It's the darkest time of the year. 20 6-7 year old children were murdered a few weeks ago and my 10 year old no longer believes in the magic of Christmas and I guess this season I sort of lost that magic too. Some part of it is gone and I wonder out loud in the snow if I will find it again. I wonder if it is buried in the winter air and will somehow blossom again or if it is gone forever. I hope for her and then I come inside and crawl in to bed for a long sleep.

Nora's school is closing. She is ten years old and in her new pink pjs that Santa brought her two days ago and laughing one minute showing me her new lego creation and the next moment she is in tears, hiding under her sleeve, peeking out only when I offer a drink, a tissue. It was a big mess of years of adults fighting and digging their heels in and now suddenly just like that, it is over. Next week we go to check out two schools for her to begin anew. One is a standard public school and the other is a Christian school that her siblings have come to call home. I told Nora that her school would close on Christmas. I know it sounds bad but really it wasn't. It was this quiet moment when it was just she and I drawing in her new drawing pad and it felt like the time. She cried and then she was back again, eating pie with my mother in law, talking about the present that Santa brought for her. And the next day I took this picture and how perfect for Nora. Such a bright star in our home, always with such big laughter or big crocodile tears. Trying to keep her young, trying to keep her safe, sometimes it feels like a full time job. If I think about it, I cant believe what has been delivered this week. Too many presents, so much that I could just throw it all out the window and scream. So much that I had to leave the house just to relax today. This week delivered a devastated 22 year old on my couch, so hurt by life, so fragile. And then there is the reminders however subtle that they are, people are missing in our lives. It just doesn't seem right. I want to be happy and joyous and free and it is a full time job to do that part all day long. What I really want is to grab on to my children, pack them away and move somewhere far far away. A place where sadness does not happen, children are always kind and God is real. For tonight I will tuck them in and tell them I love them and dream of little babies and sweet lullabies.

Frances Crombie CROMBIE, Frances Mrs. Frances Eileen (O'Brien) Crombie, 91 died Thursday, (March 9, 2006), at Connecticut Hospice in Branford. She was the widow of David J. Crombie. She resided at Brighton Gardens in Woodbridge. Frances was born in Norfolk, October 13, 1914, the daughter of the late Timothy J. O'Brien of Norfolk and Elizabeth (Moore) O'Brien of Galway Ireland. She attended the Gilbert School in Winsted. Prior to her marriage, she worked at Best & Co. in NYC and at Underwood Typewriter in Hartford She was married on August 31, 1940 at Immaculate Conception Church in Norfolk. Her late husband, David, was the Executive Vice President for the former Trans World Airlines (TWA) in New York City. Frances and her family lived in Hartford then Canton and moved to Stamford in 1955. After the death of her husband, she moved to New Canaan in 1980. Frances adored her children, grandchildren, great grandchildren and her many friends. She loved to travel around the world and volunteered at the Waveny Care Center in New Canaan. She leaves four sons David (Paula) of New Haven, Michael (Carol) of Greensboro, NC, Timothy (Ana) Crombie of Tarrytown, NY, Nicholas (Jill) of Dallas, TX; three daughters, Alison (Andy) Gunsberg of Rochester Hills, MI, Jeanne Crombie Rhodes (Terry) of Stamford and Pamela Crombie Calman (Michael) of Harrison, NY. She leaves 11 grandchildren, Jennifer Davis of Raleigh, NC, Noelle Crombie of Portland, OR, Alison Kinnahan of Washington, DC, Amy Worland of Charlotte, NC, Ben Gunsberg of Ann Arbor, MI, Kelli Backstrom and Colleen Crombie of Gloucester, MA, Paul Gunsberg of Boston, MA, Rebecca Calman of Harrison, NY, Charlotte Rhodes of Stamford and Cullen Crombie of Dallas, TX. She leaves a sister, Helen McEnroe of New Britain. She was predeceased by her sisters, Mary O'Brien, Margaret Tomlinson and her twin Elizabeth Roche and a brother, Joseph O'Brien. Frances leaves several nieces and nephews and eleven great grandchildren. The family would like to thank Jonathan E. Gage, MD and the nurses and staff on the cardiac floor at Yale-New Haven Hospital for their compassionate care. Donations in her memory may be made to Yale-New Haven Hospital, Family Need Fund, 20 York St., New Haven, CT, 06504. Her funeral will be TODAY at 9:30 a.m. from the Molloy Funeral Home, 906 Farmington Ave., West Hartford, with a Mass of Christian Burial at 10:30 a.m. at The Cathedral of St. Joseph, 140 Farmington Ave., Hartford. Burial will be in Mt. St. Benedict Cemetery, Bloomfield. Online expressions of sympathy may be made at www.molloyfuneralhome.com Published in the Hartford Courant on 3/11/2006.

Jonah leaned back in to the opthomologist's chair with the ease of a a newborn reclining in to their mother's welcoming embrace. He trusts this Doctor, he told me that his hands are gentle and his voice is soft. I had not recognized that Jonah thought about things like the tone and quality of someone's voice... but he had. Blood shot and oozing, he told me his tears tasted of salt and something else he couldnt quite put his finger on, puffy and defeated was his eye. His spirit was good. He was up for talking about his day and showing Dr Mukei his action figure and nodding to his questions. I knew it had been five days since his retinal surgery but couldnt belive it had only been five days since his retinal surgery. I had come to a secret agreement with myself not to think positively, not to hope for sight. I had signed up for the summer camps for the special kids who in fact are very special but Jonah had not been one of them in my eyes (my eyes) until this year... and then he was. But the post op nurse sat with glee in her eyes (her eyes ) telling me, "wait until tomorrow! Wait until next week! Wait until you see what will happen!" I was all of the sudden filled up with that bubbley and extractable concoction of delight, of flowers that come as predicted and a straight path in to the city, no stops, no traffic, hope. I was so optimistic in fact that I thought that maybe he didnt belong in the special kids camp, maybe I should cancel. But that pesky pragmatic self that I am always so relieved to have garnished along with me all these years, showed up. Of course I should keep him just where he is. As he leaned back in the chair, weird alien masked doctor's peering in to his sightless eye, telling him to look this way and that and me holding my breath and tapping my over caffeinated foot and checking my cell phone for a call because someone could be calling to break the thought process that is going on in my head. Jonah can't see. He can't see your fingers, he can't see the letters and he can't see my face out of that left eye so stop your trying and let me at him. Let me put him back in the baby carriage and walk him around town and go back to an easier time. Be grateful, be grateful. Be thankful for that one eye. Be grateful for John's healthier lung and his chance at a transplant. I cant bring myself to do it today. The realist in me, that ole pragmatist tells me, keep guard, be wary. Dr Sorkin told me this would happen five years ago but I know how to block it all out. I am great at denial. That won't happen to us. So when it happens to his right eye and the lights go out for him I will be left to wonder, "Does he remember the look on my face in the morning when he cuddles with me or the glee I showed him while we rode through A Small World at Disney?" For today we take the elevator down and he doesnt want to push the button. He is content to hold my hand and when we get to the door and it is raining he is not surprised and I am not surprised anymore either.