The Times of Our Lives

Gathered all around me tonight, for the first Christmas holiday in a while, is my family. We have just finished a superb (even if I say so myself) dinner, and now everyone will make their way to our back room. The lights on the tree are all the radiance we need this evening; a perfect backdrop as we talk together, or all at once, for the first time in a long time.

The cousins, older now and eager to join in the conversations, sit close together, and already they are in stitches about something. Johnny, our oldest grandson is gut laughing and dangerously balancing a half-eaten piece of chocolate cake on one knee.  Josh enters with a cup of coffee he will set on a small table beside where he chooses to sit but will not drink it for an hour or two. All our girls come in individually, with coffee or spicy herbal teas in hand, and sit near one another. They begin to chat about how good this one’s hair looks and who among them is drinking mushroom coffee…  I am seated on the couch beside my good husband, leaning on him as I have done all of our married life. Each of us has looked forward to this moment and so the stories and anecdotes begin, though I will hear almost none of them…

I am not a napper and do not even really go to sleep most nights, I think. But in this setting, the same thing always happens–I begin to drift off! Here are the people I have yearned to be surrounded by all at once; to join in their laughter and conversations, I am so inexpressively happy to be right here in the center of everyone- but off I go!  I blame the couch. I think there must be some kind of sedative in it. The talk swirls around me, and I would like to tell you what it is all about but of course I do not know.

I just know I love the idea of it. I am being pulled into that warm, irresistible place of repose, drifting off while the chorus of their voices wraps around me. The last thing I remember hearing is the lighthearted sound of everyone laughing…it would be alright with me if it were the last thing I ever hear. Predictably, one of our girls will say, “Awwww mom, you should go up to bed…”, but why would I want to leave this place? I love the sound of their voices as they speak of good and godly things, heartfelt expressions of love and kindness, and without fail, at some point, hilarious, side-splitting things.  An hour or more passes. My husband takes a big yawn-I detect this because I am still leaning on him. I sit up and look at him. He seems tired now, yet, like me,  neither of us wants to leave this room tonight. We are all here, we are together again. The cousins are still in stitches- for them, the night is young!  From where I am sitting I see Josh still hasn’t touched his coffee. A glance at the big clock on the wall tells me yet another hour has quickly passed. Jen is lying on the arm of the couch now, her eyes are closed and she is drifting off but she cannot resist giggling out loud about something Ashley is saying to Josh. Molly is sleepy and struggling to stay awake, while Madi is ready to pull an all-nighter.  The boys avoid Sarah’s glances as they sense she is getting ready to leave. We all comprehend this because very sweetly she rises and begins to collect the empty coffee and tea mugs for me. Johnny and Carter are holding on for dear life, praying that one of the adults will start another epic story. But alas, Sarah returns with their coats and reminds them it is so late and that they will see everyone again tomorrow. Reluctantly, but dutifully they yield. Everyone decides this is the right time to call it a day. There are hugs, kisses, and I love yous all around as everyone heads to bed one by one…Everyone except for me, that is. I have energy to spare now because I slept the evening away!  I walk around to ensure all the candles and lights are out. The guys have hit the sack, but by the sounds I hear from upstairs, all the girls have gotten their second wind and are laughing unrestrainedly.  I savor the nearness of it and the way their footsteps are once again filling the halls of this home.

I am standing alone in the quiet of the back room. And although everyone has left this place, I can still feel them here. If you have ever read Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s, The Sonnets from the Portuguese, you will have read that there is a name for this feeling; this sense that someone is missing from you.  It is known as the presence of the absence. The same feeling washes over me any time we say goodbye.  Each one of them, a palpable presence, etched on my heart.

My good husband and I endeavored to teach our children that they should always value our time together. Any time together. Sitting down to Sunday dinner times, driving along in the car times, and times on a warm summer night when the air was so filled with the chorus of crickets playing that sweet symphony of sounds so evocative of every summer night you’ve ever known. I wanted our children to appreciate all of the innocent, uncomplicated times when, with bowls of popcorn on our laps we sat and talked and listened to each other, and it was more than enough. We taught them that even in the not-so-good times there were things for which we needed to be especially grateful; the things we took for granted until that very moment. We would say, “Pay attention and look around, because everything matters.” All the odds and ends of life. Be present and understand that we are always indebted to God for all of his goodness to us. I guess I just wanted them to comprehend the value in the average day.

Well, maybe I am far too sentimental for my own good. Some people are not, I know and perhaps they are better off, because life changes and children grow up and friends move away; the holidays and times together come and go and that is just the way of it. But the best thing about all of these relationships is the depth of them. That is what is lasting. The partings are the price you pay for the joys of such things. I take one last look around the back room. The unwrapped presents, remains of wrapping paper, and a cake plate here and there are the only traces of what has taken place for the last four hours. But I savor even this, as I climb up the stairs and head for bed, holding the memory of this night in my heart forever.

Thank you for reading

Liz