Silver Bells

City sidewalks, busy sidewalks

Dressed in holiday style
In the air there's a feeling of Christmas. . .

And on every street corner you hear

Silver bells, silver bells,
It's Christmas time in the city
Ring-a-ling,
Hear them ring,

Soon it will be Christmas day

--“Silver Bells," Bing Crosby

Dear Thi,

October brought us to All Hallow’s Eve and Dia de Los Muertos, occasions that pay tribute to spirits crossing that fine line between this life in which I live and the next, in which you reside. 

We visited a pumpkin farm, carved a pumpkin, harvested bright-orange persimmons, and spent a night trick-or-treating. 

 November brought us to Thanksgiving, when temperatures drop, we don cozy sweaters, and spend a Thanksgiving weekend in a warm familial atmosphere to get ready for the coming of winter.

December comes upon us soon, and we are exactly one month away from your birthday. As soon as Thanksgiving hits, the shops stock up with merchandise to entice consumers to spend on Black Friday and Cyber Monday. Christmas songs start playing on the radio to further push the festive holiday spirit. This season brings on the worst commutes with shoppers eager to get their Christmas shopping done, workers getting back to the swing of things after the gluttonous Thanksgiving break, and students stressing to finish up the fall semester with finals, further aggravated by earlier nightfall as we push our clocks forward to adjust to standard time, and as the first heavy rains of the season flood the parched roads and clogged drains. 

I drive to and from work hearing the song “Silver Bells” several times a day. People have their clear favorites and dislikes when it comes to holiday music. For the record, I hate the slow, droning tune of “White Christmas.” But “Silver Bells” affects me a different way; it always instills within me a sense of melancholy, that we have gotten to the end of another year, punctuated by the hub-bub and rush of holiday shopping, decorating, wrapping. Having lost both my grandmas around Christmas and New Year, the holidays are a reminder of who remain with us, and who have departed. This year in particular, it fills me with a sort of dread and heart-pounding anxiety as your birthday draws ever closer.

Zoning out during the grueling commute home after the sun has long set, or during the middle of the night as your brother and father snore beside me, I am enveloped by the darkness. There is the feel of the cushy leather examination bed covered in a crisp linen sheet under me, a fresh hospital gown on my skin, slippery gel on my belly, your image on the TV screen bobbing about, ever so still. I was convinced you were napping, dear Thi. I was oblivious when the ultrasound tech hinted at something being wrong, not a smile or a joke during the briefer-than-usual sonography session. There is the feel of the doctor’s warm hand on my arm when she paused in her questions to tell me there is bad news, that they couldn’t find your heartbeat. How could that be, when I heard it beating away so strongly at my last ultrasound, that I swear I could still feel your movements just a second ago? How could the only thing I wanted for my birthday, for this Christmas, be taken away in an instant after 20 weeks of gestation? A shiver coursed through me when I heard the news, a feeling of somehow “failing” in the worst way possible. In the days and months that followed, I was numb, as if winter had frosted over my heart, and tears poured relentlessly, as torrential as the rain.

During Thanksgiving weekend, we jumped aboard Christmas festivities earlier and got our tree up, along with our indoor decorations. Everything assaults my senses and memories with bittersweet reminders, from the smell of fresh pine that I came home to after I delivered you, to the garlands that I used to deck the halls, broken-hearted when I pulled them down last year without a daughter to celebrate. I once again hung up the customary four stockings at our fireplace, knowing in my heart that there should’ve been a fifth. 

Luc marvels at the Christmas lights on the fresh tree; we create the magic for him even as it wounds our hearts to remember you. 

Soon we will string up lights on the outside of the house. Soon we will take him to see snow for the first time. It is almost another year gone round, one that we survived by rote repetition of our daily routines, putting one foot in front of the other and going through the motions. The pain ebbs and flows, then crashes back in like a tidal wave as the sights and sounds of the season come upon us once again. Bundle up, sweet Thi, and keep warm through the coming of winter. Brace yourself against the rains and winds that pelt you and threaten to knock you down, for soon it will be Christmas Day.