Today, the ghost of Christmas past stood beside me in church. Whispering a not so friendly reminder of what never was.
The stockings that were never hung by the chimney with care. No excited little faces greeting tomorrow morning the way I do my cup of coffee each day. I don’t know what it was about this particular Christmas Eve that put my infertility in the offering plate and left it in my lap the entire service.
I felt years of accumulated sadness pool into the corners of my eyes and it was all I could do to not crawl in that manger and cry like baby Jesus when he realized the path he’d be walking.
It’s a form of grief and its waves roll upon you without warning. With no rhyme or reason. Tis the season. This one in the month of December, bringing more than just the year to a completion. The cycles and chapters open and close with the energetic pull of the moon luring you onward.
So I’ve learned to just surrender to the feels. The moods. The melancholy when it stops by for a visit. It’s very infrequent and I no longer see it as an intruder, more like an informer. Checking in on me. Making sure anything lingering in my background noise is acknowledged. Listened to. Heard. Loud and clear until it is clear what my true desires are and guiding me back into alignment with them. Which brings me back to baby. Yeah…that unfilled void. The echo of my womb crying out for what never was. What energetically still wants to be filled in some way shape or form.
So I’m thinking a puppy might be in the new year’s forecast. A little buddy to baby. A companion and friendly spirit to bring me joy and give me something to nurture.
The need to mother still hangs in an empty stocking hung above the fireplace of my once-burning desire.
In these moments I connect to my heart and let my tongue taste the salt from my tears that run from my eyes that can see beyond the temporary loneliness that is well within the norm. After all, it is Christmas Eve.
And somehow I still feel the magic swirling in the atmosphere along with my faith and Gods promise when he says, “I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten.” (Joel 2:25)
And every tear I shed around this subject is not about holding on to the past and what wasn’t. It’s about releasing even more of it and freeing up the space to make room for what’s coming.
And I’m ready to receive.
The “High on Life” Coach