Blue Christmas

I remember Christmas in moments. Some were so blissful, I did not want them to end. Some felt slightly empty and sad. People were missing or sick or gone. There was one Christmas, however, that I remember in detail. I was deep in the trenches of infertility. We had just moved from Columbia to Davidson. Everyone I knew had one baby and another on the way. I felt broken beyond measure. For the first time in my life, I was dreading Christmas.

Our families were making plans. We were getting invitations for Christmas Eve dinners and Christmas Day gatherings. I had never considered not going, but this Christmas was different. I could not imagine being around babies and adorable toddlers. I could not imagine trying to be happy, faking smiles as if nothing was wrong. Everything was wrong, and my heart was broken. I finally told everyone I would not be coming. They asked what we were doing, and I said spending a quiet holiday at home. I did not want to hurt anyone, it was just that for the first time in my life, my hurt superseded all other feelings.

My mom was concerned, but she knew what a tough time I was having. She only said, “You will call me if you need me, right?” I told her I would. Christmas Eve arrived. The house was empty and quiet. We took our two dogs for a long walk just before dusk. I watched other families with excited children through windows as I walked by house after house. I was sure that I was the only person this blue on Christmas Eve. Tears came and tears went. Nothing changed the fact that my Christmas would be different and empty, almost a punishment for misery.

Out of all this blue, we decided to take a drive and see the lights in downtown Davidson. It was very empty. Everyone was somewhere, and we were here. We decided to keep driving. We headed towards Charlotte. I think we were the only car on the interstate. We pulled off on Morehead Street. Uptown looked empty. The buildings looming in the winter sky, lights twinkling. There was an occasional stray person walking alone; I wondered their story. We turned into Dilworth, the lovely old homes with candles in the windows and cars parked in the driveways. Gatherings of happy families with children laughing and running inside to the warmth of belonging, and we had no place to go. So we kept driving.

We realized it was almost 7 PM and we had not even thought about dinner. We were driving near Southpark Mall. It was all a ghost town except for one business that was open. We drove into the parking lot that it shared with Jesse Brown’s and Barnes and Noble. It was a Chinese restaurant called Boading. The front was lit up, and the sign said “Open”. We decided to go inside. Although cars were out front, I assumed it would be empty. I was surprised to see almost every table full. The hostess took us to a booth in the corner by the window. It was cozy, and I could look out over a city that was empty and might understand how I was feeling. Boading had Christmas trees, and lights were strung across the room. It was dimly lit and Christmas music was playing in the background. There were all kinds of people there. Old, young, single, and in groups. People who I assumed had nowhere to go, or maybe they did. They were smiling and talking to each other. I searched their faces to try to figure out why they were here. After a few minutes, it did not matter why, they were here, because I was too. It was a very festive night. No one asked me, “Do you have children?” No one there had children with them. No one was discussing pregnancy, labor, and delivery. For over an hour, I forgot who I was. I didn’t feel broken or less than, I felt a part of a Christmas celebration with strangers I never officially met. When it was time to leave, we said our goodbyes and “Merry Christmas”. Driving home, I saw the twinkling lights with a new perspective. I did not feel sad. I did not feel left out or forgotten. I realized that people, for many reasons, have all kinds of Christmases and people have all kinds of things going on in their lives. That Christmas was over in a day. My problem was not solved, but I had a new awareness.

The moral of this story is to lower expectations during the holidays, also sometimes, breaking tradition is a really good thing, and most of all, many, many people think it is a very, very sad time of year. If you are lucky to have the perfect holiday, give love and space to those who don’t. “Merry Christmas” can mean many things, and sometimes it means being alone, celebrating in a different way and realizing it is okay to experience things your own way. We must often find innkeepers who will welcome our sadness and our vulnerability inside with a different kind of love.