The Christmas Cards
We send greetings to friends who are suffering.
The yellow star atop the Christmas tree emits silver snowballs as white as powdered sugar , sparkling like jewels in a Tiffany’s store window, leaving a trail of marshmallow exhaust behind. Red bulbs hang off boughs as snowflakes delicately push each one as they fall on green branches. “Wishing you a joyful Christmas celebration” written in red ink greets the intended as she opens the card. The merry wishes are a dichotomy to the receiver whose life is anything but merry. For the intended will spend the last Christmas with her ailing mother. The dear intended will also battle another year of suffering, limping in pain, always searching for an answer, a solution, a special brew to put her back together again.
A “Peace on Earth” greeting adorns the top of the next card, a die-cut, a lone deer among the forest trees, the background in silver foil. Peace to you as you fight cancer, the inoperable tumor, taking chemo which crushes you. Peace to you as you accept the truth, your longevity measured in months, not years. Peace to you as you face another day losing your hair, eyebrows, and appetite.
As Santa fills his sleigh with packages wrapped in red paper and topped with green bows, forest animals , an owl, a rabbit, fox, and squirrel, look on. The scene extends to a fully decorated Christmas tree in the middle of the woods. “Happy New Year” written with curly cue swirls greets the reader as he opens the card. Happy New Year as you care for a wife falling more into dementia, forgetting the names of her children, forgetting common words , no longer able to cook her famous Ratatouille dish, sew her teddy bears, play piano, or drive. A Happy New Year to you as you take on more responsibility, more caregiving, more exhaustion.
A brick red barn, doors open, emits a yellow light from inside. A ground pine wreath hangs over the open door and a full-Halloween type moon glows over the peak of the roof. The barn floats on a foot of snow. “Joy to the World ,” stamped in red foil, written vertically on the inside of the card, allows room for a more personal note. But what should one write to a family who buried a son nine years ago and will bury another child before she reaches another decade.
I slip each card into a red envelope, such a festive color, each stamped with a Christmas scene. It’s ironic to send these greetings as if all was well with the intended. Momentary good wishes might linger as each recipient reads heart- felt words, a momentary relief from the present to reflect back on Christmases before sickness, before facing mortality. But it is fleeting.
“May this season be full of light and laughter for you and your family.”
“Wishing you peace, joy, and unconditional love at Christmas and always.”
“Merry Christmas and may your Christmas be white.”
So many are suffering, yet we pretend it’s the most magical time of the year.