"And they said, 'this is a conservative city. This is no Madison, Wisconsin. In Madison, they worship Satan!' "
—the priest tonight, quoting someone else
"And the angels said, 'Fear not!' "
—somewhere in the bible
"...each of these bright lights is a human life . . . together we can illuminate the darkness in the world."
—part of the priest's homily
December 24, 2005
Christmas Eve (No. 8)
I spent today in Baraboo, with my cousins and aunts and uncles and assorted others, laughing and teasing and enjoying mounds and mounds of food (as is a family tradition, ha). The two people with whom I spent a great amount of time, however, were my Grandpa and my cousin Ian, the oldest and youngest in the family right now, at 84 and almost 3, respectively. These instances were full of humor and giggles and honest conversation, no less, similar in their own ways but different and equally endearing in those differences. With my Grandpa I heard about the past, about his involvement with the bomb and his life in New York City and his days at MIT and with my Grandma. With Ian, we spoke of make believe coffee and chasing ping pong balls, phantom beards and '911 boogers!'. He was the future.
I'm starting to realize that my Grandpa, well, he isn't all that young anymore. He tells me he's on the 100 year plan, and he's got to be the sharpest I've seen an 80-something in my short life, but the inevitable always hangs there. It's distressing for obvious reasons, as it would be for anyone, but sad for others too. He's the patriarch loud and clear in this family, the leader extraordinare, the chemist and comic and compassionate one from whom our vibrant sides sprung. Not to say that this isn't due to my Grandma as well, because she's no fading willow either. It's just that...to me, Grandpa LeRoy is special.
For a short (and somewhat embarassing, haha) time in elementary school, I signed all of my papers with either "Lexi the Great!" or "Lexi the Genius!" (Self-confidence is not a quality lacking in our family, obviously.) My Grandpa, to this day, signs things "LeRoy the Great." I see so many things in him that I want to be one day, and he is everything good that I hope to see in the world. To think of him leaving us one day, while reality, while the truth, is beyond sad, and I try to ignore it.
Changing topics. I'm getting somewhere here. Just be patient.
When I turned 24 this year, I felt a sense of extreme calm, unlike anything I had felt in years. That proved to last only a short while, and before I knew it I was back in the saddle of the cycle of panic, at a lesser level but still so worrying. It's been an interesting fall and early winter, good in its own ways but distressing in others, and we know how that all shakes out for Lexi. I just want to calm down and feel free and understand that I am worth believing in.
At one point during Advent I attended Mass at the Basilica. During the service, out of nowhere, I was struck with this immense calm once again. It didn't last, of course—most things never do—but I came away with some strange mantra that I've been trying to remember and hold close once again.
"Trust yourself," this strange voice came up in me. At times of flurry and fury this December, I've tried to remember this, call it up and take a deep breath and relax in and out. It's time to realize that so much is beyond control, and what I can do best is to breathe and let it be. I just don't know if I can. I wish I could slash this slew of anxiety to shreds, but I suppose, in time, we'll see.
One more thing. Maybe it will all come together, maybe not. Stay with me.
The last bit of the priest's homily—lights being people, and us bringing brightness to an otherwise dark world—really got to me. One of the things that gives me great joy, weird as it is, is watching people and realizing the good in all their lives (should that make any sense!). I at times feel a great sense of community with the people in this world. Looking out at church tonight, in a place that I seldom am, I felt great joy being with all these people I never knew. This isn't making sense, but it does to me. I just want everyone to be happy, and healthy, and home, and I know so many people aren't, and so I wish them the best possible under the circumstances.
So there you have it, folks. Totally disjointed, but a very Merry Christmas to you and yours and may your season be bright. Control is an illusion, lights are the night's necessity, and life so fleeting, but love can make it last.
—Lexi