Storms and Miracles

Looking back on my early morning walk today at Kamaole 2 beach.

DECEMBER 26, 2020 — Happy Boxing Day!

I always thought Boxing Day, celebrated in the UK and Canada, was the day you boxed up your decorations after Christmas. But no, that’s not it! In Victorian times, the tradition was to give gifts of cash in little boxes to the servants who worked extra hard for you preparing for Christmas Day.

Later, it became a day to give to those less fortunate.

This year, maybe it’s the day to give to the essential workers who have been working hard for us. Like the nice barista who made my coffee bright and early yesterday morning. A little extra in the tip jar is in order.

Boxing day is the Second Day of Christmas. The Twelfth, Epiphany, is January 6, when we commemorate the Wise Men’s arrival in Bethlehem. This year has been special because the “Christmas Star” was visible from Earth on Winter Solstice last weekend as the conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn. It’s the first time these two planets been in this close proximity in 400 years, making that extra-bright light in the sky. I was fortunate to be able to view the conjunction from the lava fields and coastline at La Peruse, on Maui, through my brother’s strong binoculars last Monday.

Yeah, I’m spending this winter on Maui.

Please don’t judge me too harshly. I flew from Seattle to Maui during a surge in the pandemic two and a half weeks ago. I know, I know. But all is well. I tested negative before I left, was the only person in my row on the plane, brought my own sandwich and coffee, kept my mask on the whole time, even in the bathroom, and I sanitized each surface before touching it.

Two days after I arrived on Maui, I tested negative again and was then allowed to join my siblings’ COVID pod. Here in Kihei, we are diligent. We wear our masks all the time, even outside.

Both of my siblings live on Maui, by the way, so here I am. How lucky is that?

My Pacific Northwest children were not gathering for Christmas this year, and I needed to be with family, simple as that. We didn’t gather last year either. Last Christmas was my first Christmas without a house.

I have a confession. I have been holding in some low-grade anxiety that we will get used to life with no family gatherings. Dumb, I know. But it’s there. My logical brain knows that nothing is permanent. Not the good times, not the bad times, not this blankety-blank pandemic. But anxiety is not logical. It’s a storm, and you can’t logic your way out of a storm. All you can do is weather it.

Yesterday, Christmas Day, I didn’t hear from my daughter and her family all day. No conversation, no facetime with my grandson. Nothing. My mind did not follow the Christmas Star, but instead went down a dark alley inventing all kinds of stupid stories and reasons to justify grief and despair.

I’m not proud. I wallowed in a self-created pity party yesterday afternoon and evening.

That pity party, I now understand, was grief-created anxiety. I just knew what I knew in those twisted moments, which was that I was going to be left out of Christmas with my kids because I came to Maui. As the evening went on and I didn’t hear from them, I got emotionally drunk on that idea.

Grief is like that. It comes in waves, or storms, and starts tossing you around in your weakness. Sometimes, it even feels like an old, wobbly, dirge-singing, drunken friend. It feels familiar, even comforting, sometimes. And let’s face it, the holidays have been hard for me since Bill died. We used to do so much! When the kids were growing up, Bill and I took them for a day of sledding and hot chocolate. We had family and friends gather around the table. We baked cookies and sang Christmas carols, drove around, listened to wonderful Christmas music, and looked at light displays. And of course, there were gifts. Lots of gifts.

I needed time to “sober up,” so last night I went to bed early. I had a good sleep, and this morning I woke up early and went for a long walk. I walked an hour out and back, barefoot on the beach. It has been my routine here, to roll out of bed before the sunrise and start walking.

I came back a little more clear-headed after six miles and a stop for coffee. Then, I initiated a facetime call with my grandson. When I picked up my phone to make the call, I saw that my daughter did indeed try to call me yesterday morning. I missed it.

Why didn’t I just look at my phone yesterday afternoon? I would have seen they tried to call which would have saved me a lot of despair.

I missed the call from them yesterday because my siblings and I went for a Christmas morning paddleboard outing. Well, we tried anyway. The shore break was so dangerous that I couldn’t get my board out past it. I kept getting tossed around in the crashing waves. I never stood up. I lost my prescription sunglasses in one big flip underwater. The water tore my sunglasses right off, lanyard and all.

That was a bummer. After that, I didn’t even try to go back out.

That was the beginning of the Christmas storm. I was tired and weak after being tossed around in the surf yesterday morning.

When I got back from my walk this morning, my grandson and daughter and I had a soul-filling hour of facetime. We talked about what Santa brought. I watched him drop marbles down a Rube-Goldberg style contraption set up next to the Christmas tree. We talked about Saturn and Jupiter (my 3-and-half-year-old grandson can name all the planets, in order, as well as the four visible moons of Jupiter.) I was so grateful!

I rose above the storm this morning, out of the dark alley, and into the light. It just took a little bit of time.

For me, it was a small Boxing Day miracle.