THE HOLIDAYS: WHAT THEY MEAN TO ME

1992

I won't wallow in self-pity. Two weeks ago I had other plans: to skip celebrating--no decorations, music, parties--and buy myself a cooked lobster for Christmas Eve dinner. Hey, it's my right as a New Englander and seafood vendors need the business.

Then, I started a part-time job, met with never-ceasing kindness when least I expected it, repaired some broken fences, and found new life for my latest book.

First, work: I help three mornings a week assisting a furniture restorer with administrative tasks at a center for people with challenges. Such a short time, but the joy that fills the air every time I enter the building invigorates me, makes me smile and takes me out of myself. Some at the center already remember my name. What a blessing.

Second, I've had my own challenges and one agency, mainly run by volunteers, has extended its heart and hands, given me an opportunity to rebuild my life. I've remembered that feeling, which I'd recently taken for granted until last week.

Moreover, life experiences have culminated in, at last, my learning about love. In a carefully constructed bubble, I've avoided the responsibility, the hard work which romantic relationships require. I won't psychoanalyze why I've kept my distance. Nor will I place blame. No one or no thing has the answer to what makes love work: books, television, movies; parents, friends, pundits; head, heart or instincts. As the Humanists asserted during the Renaissance, it's not the answers, it's the questions. I ask myself: what would life be without my man? Why throw away happiness to meet societal expectations pounded in my innocent brain since childhood? Aren't we, my boyfriend and I, fortunate to have a love that many will never know or have a chance to experience?

And then, through the encouragement of others, unselfish writers on Cape Cod, I've found renewed faith in my talent, the courage to show the world my stories. For Shadowwater, Dark Sea, Shadowwater II, and the sequel to follow have bestseller potential, yet that's not what I have to prove. No, I will show the publishing world and myself that I'm an author. I will also help others in doing so.

You see, I've begun to understand, with all the heartache around us, why we must continue to celebrate--even if for one day. In 1992, I believed going out to dinner with friends tens of thousands of miles from home on a tropical island and being "merry," could make the holidays more fulfilling. Ten years later celebrating with family meant more. I didn't know, then, that in seven years I'd, unexpectedly lose my father, and three years later, my mother. I continue to cherish those times but not because of what my parents gave me. I value these days not because of what others have shared with me--co-workers, volunteers, my beloved Myles or my writing colleagues. No, I've learned what's made me happiest has been the chance to bring joy to others: the spirit of giving.

31 Years Later