Chandler's Tree
Chandler’s little tree has found its new home this year on our mantel. A friend brought the table-top tree last December, along with the tiny ornaments, so we would all have a taste of Christmas cheer at Mission Hospital’s ICU.
As I unpacked it a couple of weeks ago, I noticed paperclips attached to the little gold and silver balls. I remembered last year’s flash of inspiration that lead me to the nurse’s station to ask if I could borrow paper clips to hang the ornaments on Chandler’s tree.
Today was so very different from its counterpart last year. A different kind of pain. A different kind of hope. December 17, 2018, every part of me ached seeing my son lying in a hospital bed, unable to move, or open his eyes, or breathe on his own, or eat, or speak….or be the Chandler we know. A stream of hope ran alongside the pain. Hope that he would live through that night. Hope that when they began to wean him off his meds in the days or weeks to come, he would open his eyes, look at us, and utter some Chandler-ism that only he could come up with in such a circumstance. Hope that, against all odds, he would be able to walk again.
Today I slept in, enjoyed a bowl of oatmeal with melted peanut butter, worked out on my Pilates reformer, and listened to an Advent retreat meditation on my Pray as You Go app. I happened on this series of meditations on “accident” when I was scrolling through the app to find a way to contact Pray as You Go to let them know what a blessing their devotionals have been to me these past months. I clicked on a tab that said “Retreats and Series” and there it was – New Beginnings Advent Retreat 2019. Today’s meditation was on New Beginnings with Mary. It said, “Sometimes a new beginning is hidden in what seems to be an ending.” This spoke to me. I will be contemplating what this looks like in the days and weeks to come.
I went in to work this afternoon. A friend dropped by and blessed me more than I can say with a gift bag full of goodies I love and a miniature tree with its own light-up star that I’ll place at Chandler’s bike memorial. The greatest blessing was her word of encouragement to me. She let me know that she has shared my blog with people who have lost loved ones and it has helped them. I’ve said it many times -- one of the strongest gusts of wind in my sails is when I hear that somehow my choice to process out loud this journey of losing Chandler has been a help to someone else.
After school we had our annual staff Christmas party. For my food contribution, I attempted to warm up mini Gorgonzola puff pastries in the staff kitchen toaster oven. Apparently, you’re supposed to put those plastic trays on a metal tray inside the oven for baking, and since I put them directly on to the oven rack, the plastic tray melted. In prying the delicate pastries out of the melted trays, several of them broke apart and I had to eat them. The few that were left were of the “blackened” variety. Lesson learned.
After the party, I drove about half an hour away to a Michael’s craft store for a knitting/crocheting class. I’ve been trying in earnest to crochet a scarf only to end up with a really long chain and no idea how to start a second row, a necessity if you want to make anything besides a never-ending chain that stretches from here to China. The teacher was so kind and patient. I think it was physically painful for her to see the yarn draped haphazardly across my hand, my fingers groping to find the correct “v” to crochet into, and my stitches taking on no consistent size or shape. I walked away with a small crocheted rectangle that will eventually become a scarf -- if I can keep my stitches straight and my morale high -- or a pencil skirt for a Barbie doll.
Now I’m sitting by the fire writing while Charli studies for finals.
Compared to last December 17….the pain and the hope are both present. They are just shaped differently.
Today’s Chandler-ness:
12/2/99 – At dinner last night…
Chip: OK, let’s talk about Christmas.
Chandler: OK, wait, wait, wait. Let’s talk about Jesus, ‘cuz he’s at the point of it..
