We should know better by now. It shouldn't keep surprising us, but it does. No matter
how hard we try, no matter what we do to prepare ourselves, it still happens. Year after
year, generation after generation, it arrives without hesitation or delay. It stays too long
and never lasts long enough. It is filled with anticipation and dread, and we never learn
enough, and we know far too much....

It is greeted with great joy and heavy despair. And it is always announced by the universal
cry of "I'm not ready yet...." The Holidays are coming, and I haven't even cleaned up
the fireworks from the Fourth of July. I'm still unpacking boxes (we've moved-again!),
and the calendar says its time for the annual migration of memories and the great
"Stuff-the-Turkey" contest (the turkey won last year). Because we're in another new
place, there will be the dilemma of where to put the tree and how do we explain to the
company about that one empty stocking?

Nothing fits this year! I can't find the ornaments. I haven't memorized my address, and
the grocery store is in the wrong place. We'll have to figure out where to hang a wreath
and should we go electric this year in the yard? I keep forgetting where I've hidden gifts
I bought during the summer and nothing seems to fit in this place like it did in the last
one!

We were comfortable in the last place, but then I forget that is what we said when we
first moved there, too. We always seem to be more comfortable in the last place-at least
we knew where the memories were and where to put them and how to handle them.
Here, in this new place, no one knows our "story." No one knows our history. It is as if
we have no past. It's easy to blend in, but not so easy to settle in. And the holidays are
coming and I'm not ready yet!

"I'm not ready yet" is the universal cry of all living beings. I'm not ready yet for first grade, for crossing the street by myself, for sleep-away camp, for junior high, for getting married, for getting a job, for having children, for burying someone I love. I'm not ready yet for grieving, for handling the holidays, for stuffing a turkey, for finding a place for everything, for living where no one knows my story. I' m not ready yet for Thanksgiving, for Hanukkah, for Christmas, for New Year's, for Three King's Day, or for anything!

I'm not ready for the annual flood of memories that always spill out as we unpack the stockings from their tissuewrapped nest. I'm not ready yet for the clutch of pain that still wraps my heart in grief as we place the ornaments on the tree. I'm not ready yet for opening the door to greet strangers who are fast becoming friends but who may never know the effort it has taken to be who I am now. I'm not ready yet to be "normal" and take my place among the normal people of the world. We look normal, and for the most part we act normal. We are normal ... except for our story and for the rips in our family fabric. But no one here knows those tears, and I don't think I'm ready not to have a past just yet. I don't think I' m ready for no one to remember our hurt, let alone the
joy our loved ones gave us.

I unpacked the silver today, intending to polish it and place it in the dining room so it would add its shimmer to the festive decorations. But I wasn't ready for the flood of memories that came back as I traced my fingers over the delicately carved designs in the coffee pot, remembering my mother patiently teaching me how to polish good silver. I wasn't ready for the loneliness that swept over me as I placed the teapot on the tray and suddenly wanted to call Mom and tell her I was, at last and again, home. She had taught me that silver always spoke of a comforting home, and now that I had found it and set it out, I wanted someone to remember with me.

I' m not ready yet to live only on the surface of life. I want to share my history with my new friends, yet it seems unfair of me to spoil their holiday season. It's not the same for me. There is still a lot of empty in my heart. Not as much as before, but now the emptiness comes from being too new somewhere to really belong.

So, I'll just have to figure out how to handle the holidays I'm never going to be ready for in places I may never be settled in. As long as we have the stockings up and the silver is polished and ready, then let the holidays come! We'll figure out how to tell enough of our history so we won't be lonely and so people will understand about the tiny empty chair and the joy that lights up our life when we clasp hands together in the family circle.

We'll decorate our new house (our new life?) with the treasures that speak of our history, finding joy in the memories they spark. We'll bring some of the old, add a few pieces of new and practice the art of blending yesterday with today in hopes of creating another memory for tomorrow.

I guess it doesn't matter whether you have moved or have never left the same place for generations; it is still an unsettled feeling that for the first time no one remembers the journey you've been on. The first time no one mentions that special name it starts a hollowness in our being that leaves us empty and feeling alone. It is as if the world has made its move again and everything that once was so awkward and out of place has now assumed a "normal" atmosphere and most of the world knows nothing of the price we paid for this "new normal."

I'll hang the special ornaments, enjoy the silver teapot and cherish the warmth of the love these gifts of remembrance bring. No one else has to know the story for me to acknowledge it and remember it. No one else has to know the pain for me to share the joy of having these things be a part of my now.

We'll gather together and count our blessings, not only naming the ones around the table, but including those whose lives have touched ours in countless ways. One does not have to be present to be alive in the hearts of those who shared a few moments of the journey together. The heart never forgets, even when the world does. No, nothing fits this year, just like nothing fit last year or the year before. But it's getting better, improving either with age or experience or patience. Or maybe it is because it is simply becoming a thread in the continuing fabric of our lives. We will probably always be a bit unsettled, unnerved, when the roll call finds a name missing or a chair
empty. But, then why shouldn't we be a little sad when a light goes out in our world?

So, this holiday season, gather in your blessings and count them all. Count the blessings of the people in your story and find the peace that comes with counting a holiday of joy remembered and love shared.

Peace to us all-wherever we may be.