Longest Night

Karen took this picture in 2006 when she was visiting. 

I would have scanned the pic, but the scanner is on the fritz. 

Tomorrow we recognize the longest night of the year. I've seen some scientific information that reveals  it varies depending on where you live. Your longest night could've even been in November and you didn't even realize it.

I have always enjoyed the seasons, and by the time each one is approaching I'm usually ready for it. I begin to look forward to those short days when it is dark at 4:30 p.m. here and it comes as a comfort to me. I've even enjoyed the days that meld together into one long time of gray. In summer I can usually tell what time it is by looking outside, but this time of year it is difficult. What time is it? someone may ask.
My response is "Gray."

Last year was a very difficult winter for me. The gray descended upon us and I couldn't tell if it was morning or evening, and the color matched my mood. It was our first year without my mother. She died just before Christmas in 2007, but as anyone who has been through grief can tell you, it's the year after the death that gets you. That first birthday, Easter, or Christmas without them is the toughest.
This year I am recovered from that grief, though I still have tearful moments when I am reminded of certain things we experienced. And I miss her every day. It so happens that the anniversary of her death is close to the longest night of the year. I'm not sure I'll make it to the Longest Night Service at church tomorrow night. Things are busy with deadlines, etc. But I know in the small moments when I take a break she will be on my mind, as will other loved ones who have died that I miss. (Grandpa Dave, Aunt Alice, Uncle Dan, Uncle Elmer, Aunt Muriel, Grandpa, Aunt Gee, Granny Myers, Aunt Beulla, Grandma Hart, Grandpa Hart, Granny and Pa)

I have many, many fond memories of Christmas time with my mom. I remember she always made Christmas fun for us. She had Alvin and the Chipmunks on the record player as Christmas approached, and I always helped her wrap what seemed like hundreds of presents. She loved Elvis, and played his Christmas album during the holidays. We helped her decorate our tree each year, and she always baked a ham on Christmas Eve. I only remember a few of the things I ever got at Christmas, but I certainly remember the time we spent together.

I am also reminded of the tough time that we went through in November and December 2007, when she was so sick. But with that are memories of some very wonderful people who helped us to keep her home and care for her here ~~Hospice nurses.

As I've gone through this experience, I can relate to my grandmother in some ways that I didn't before. I used to wonder (only a few years ago) why she would say things like, "My mother would never believe how this town has changed." I would think to myself, "Well, of course. It's been more than 40 years since your mother died."
And now I find myself saying "My mother would never believe how this town has changed."  In just two years there have been a lot of changes. We have a Costco that my mom saw being built, but didn't get the chance to walk into. We have new roads, and new buildings in the places we used to drive and shop.

And I know none of that matters. She is in a place that is beyond anything any of us can imagine, and I know Costco doesn't compare, even though she really liked Costco ;-)
I think this must be how we process the death. It is a huge landmark in our lives, a place where a part of our lives abruptly stopped. When the loved one was living we saw and experienced things, not realizing that someday those tiny moments, like a meal at a fast food restaurant, would become a favorite memory.
As new buildings go up, homes are torn down, or babies are born, it reminds us that we can't share any more moments. Not even the tiny ones.