Christmas Present

Being Present.  That is the best Gift you can give.  Ever.  I know.  I remember the times I wasn’t present while Grant was alive.  Now he’s gone and I wish I could go back and relish those moments I didn’t cherish in the moment, not knowing that they would end.  I was unconsciously feeling that not every moment mattered, taking them for granted, taking so much for granted.  When I say that now, I laugh.  Such a potent reminder now, I’ve lost what I took for GRANTed.  It’s gone. He’s gone.

I remember all this when I’m on my phone and my kids are trying to talk to me.  I say huh?  Mmmm hum, ok and make the noises that seem like I know what they are saying, but I’m not present with them.  Then I remember.  Oh gosh… if this was my last moment with you and my phone was my priority, I’d feel so much regret.  Now, I put my phone down and am present with them.  

You never know when your last moment with a person will be. I’d hate to remember it as ignoring them.  Or as not seeing their precious living soul before me and then it’s gone.  I’d hate my phone for distracting me.  I’d remember, it’s not my phone to blame.  The only person in charge of my time, my heart, my emotions, my attention, is me.  I’m the one who can give myself and those I love my presence.  

I think back to last Christmas.  How I was completely unavailable, just going through the motions of being alive and unaware of it all.  I was gone.  Where?  I honestly don’t remember. I look at that photo of us in our Christmas pajamas, my face was smiling, but my eyes were hollow. I think back even further to our first year without Grant, then to that first night.  The night Grant disappeared, when it all started.  Information began to come at me and all of a sudden, I wasn’t able to process. I was gone.  

Something inside me disappeared. It was as if a shield went up to prevent me from being present.  I couldn’t feel, only move.  I couldn’t comprehend, only respond.  I couldn’t sleep, but felt exhausted.  I couldn’t eat, only drink.  I couldn’t be there.  It was all too much.  My ability to be present was gone.  It was as if that shield was there to protect me from the very ability to be present.  The thing that I’m advocating for, being present, wasn’t possible for me.  

That’s when I learned that sometimes being present is just too painful.  That’s when I saw and understood why people hurt you or hurt me.  All my life I couldn’t understand it.  Why would my friend treat me like that, when she knew me so well?  Why would that man be so rude when he didn’t even know me at all. It suddenly made sense.  Hurt people hurt people.  Not on purpose nor always, but it’s because they are protecting themselves.  Hurt people cannot withstand the input what whole people can.  The coping capacity of hurt people is diminished.

Ahhhh… I thought right away.  I see now.  I see now why my friend hurt me.  I see now why that stranger hurt me.  THEY were hurting.  I could see and understand it now because I was hurting.  Hurting so much that I could no longer be present.  When you’re not present, then much can and will be left to interpretation, that’s when you can hide.  You can hide yourself, hide truth and hide pain.

You see, when you can be present, nothing can be hidden from your awareness.   When you’re present, it’s all real. The moment I knew Grant was gone, being present in this moment wasn’t the best option for me.  Hiding, protecting, and being able to function became the priorities.  Relishing, enjoying or seeing each moment, no, that was no longer the goal.  It was survival.  

I had two options in those first moments; die or be reborn.  To choose to be reborn, you still have to die.  So, it was the beginning of a new birth; to see, hear, feel, and be present all over again.  This time with a new awareness and different appreciation for it all.  This time, it’s more real that it had ever been before.  I felt alive now, because I lived with my husband who was not alive any longer and I felt the absence of his life. 

Moment by moment, there began to be just a flash of comprehension for something I saw again, but for the first time this time.  The laugh of my baby, the ability to walk out in the fresh air with the sun shining on my face, the messiness of the house, the sound of the children, the taste of a raspberry.  All these things become new again and all of a sudden, I was completely present to how I felt about each one in a new way. 

Bit by bit I began to come alive again and to grasp a new kind of presence.  A new way of living, a new way of being, a new surety because now I know how alive I am. I began to wake up to truth in a newness and in the clarity that comes from darkness dispelled with a new light.  It truly is like a new birth into life.  This Christmas, I feel the ability to be present again.  It’s a new awareness that shows me how alive I am and how much ability I have to choose who I am, what I want, and to really know myself. 

This picture of us this Christmas shows that.  The messiness all around.  The kids who wrapped their own presents and the fireplace missing it’s border.  It’s all a vision of what’s present.  Not my ideal, but my perfect.  Not picture perfect, but life is real, and real is perfect as it is, not in perfection.  That’s not what I want.  I want what’s real now, and get it because I choose that, see that, and feel that.  It’s true presence.  This year I see it in my eyes again.  There’s life there.  

I’m so grateful I’m not back to last Christmas, and that first year is over.  It is all just a blur. It’s a state of being so intangible, it scares me to think it was real.  I’m in true gratitude for being able to feel my own presence again. So today, on this Christmas, being present with my children, in my home and with myself; it’s a new experience, a new experience to just be here.  It’s the best present I’ve ever found.