My family has always celebrated Christmas, but depending on what church we attended, Advent was mostly an after thought. The beginning of winter was merely a date on the calendar. This year - this heartbreaking year - changed everything.
As I've grown older I've begun dreading the end of daylight savings. The shorter days mean more stressful night driving, which mostly keeps me home after dark - unless someone else is at the wheel.
This hatred of winter's onset and its resulting darkness has grown to be unreasonable, but hasn't stopped my whining about it.
This November I continued my obsessive ranting about how much I hated the early darkness and haven't let up. And, then, last week I read a beautiful article about the winter solstice and yule.
Read more below the orange curly yule log.
I lost my youngest daughter Christine to breast cancer in July of this year. I have been so sad; without energy and devoid of interest in most things. I returned to work with no passion and no mission. My days became obstacles to get over and once home I burrowed deep into my grief and shut out everyone and everything.
Oh, most people thought I was doing pretty good considering. I laughed at jokes, tried not to cry at the simplest reference to family, and in general did what was expected of me.
As the holiday season approached I was filled with dread and, as I mentioned above, started my annual litany of reasons why I hated winter and the end of daylight savings.
And then I read the article. The one that has changed me forever, leading me to re-examine, not only the darkness but the light as well.
If I consider the idea of celebrating the transition from darkness to light at the winter solstice - or at Advent - I begin to see how acknowledging the shortest day of the year can be healing. Merging it with my tradition of celebrating Christmas, I realize I can move forward with joy through Advent, Solstice, Christmas and the New Year using the gift of these milestones so generously given by nature and my faith.
The opportunity to examine the darkness and face it head-on has been a revelation. I can immerse myself in the cold, dark abyss of grief and be absorbed by its stark, sometimes frightening, reality. A reality without my daughter. A world where small children are murdered in their classrooms. A world of cruelty and injustice.
I can face all of this without the paralyzing fear that has kept me from living in the moments of my life. I can conquer it because light is on the horizon. The Light is coming. The joy of a new beginning is almost here. A new start. A new year. New light.
I'm hopeful I will be able not only to celebrate once the light's arrival, but hold the darkness close and celebrate the move towards the light.
The grief and hurt is still deep inside, but it doesn't have to cover the light with a shroud that keeps me alone in my personal darkness. When I burrow deep down into the darkness, I need only look up at the light. The Light.
P.S. - I still hate to drive at night.