Archive for December, 2017
Tree of Love- Gabriel Miller- moonbeam and light 2017
A few weeks after my son passed, a good friend also felt that same terrible pain of losing her child. There isn’t much you can do or say after those initial weeks to those that have not felt what it is like to be absolutely “gutted” and whose world is no longer together. You are expected to get over it – move on- people can get impatient with your grief, you are a dreadful reminder that a loss of a child can happen to them . You have no outlet for your love that continues to grow. In the following May after Gabe’s passing from this world, Gabe’s father and mother planted a tiny tree ( supposedly a dwarf variety) in the area known as Settlers’ Watch.
Through the seasons the tree was tended with care and love ; the little tree grew . Every year Gabe’s mum and dad light the now the not so little tree- 2015 found it a bit of a stretch for his dad. This year more than a stretch was needed
and night fell on a snowy Christmas
The little tree, no longer small – grown tall- fed with love and watered with tears shone through the darkness and cold reminding us of a little boy
a sweet child – the light of his mother and father’s very being – the love that is his alone -lights for just a little while the cold dark nights.
Gabriel Miller August 17th-2009- December 31st 2009
Photos Lisa Miller – Lorain 365
Figgy Pudding – A celebration tale – Chris (tmas) Pudding
Traditions in this house took a 180 degree about-face when my son Chris died. I could no longer have Christmas in this house- Oh! my mum has her “Christmas Grotto” in her little living room and Gavin and Braedyn come a decorate her little tree and hang the ornaments.
There are no longer twinkling lights inside or outside this house in celebration of anyone’s birth- the beliefs of my childhood torn asunder.
I have “visited the holidays ” at my daughters for the sake of her and her family and the boys. Traditions changed from my “English Christmas of yesteryear” – now Christmas Eve finds lobsters in the pot – named for those that are not very nice.. and laughter yes, but the traditions of my daughter’s youth and of this house have gone the way of so many things. Yes! I visit the holidays – peace on earth and good will toward men – has a sour note…….. ( too many religious hypocrites, sadness and questions added to the mix of my life)
But Christmas is for children and like every other grandparent last week I smiled, laughed and cried as the kindergartners at Braedyn’s school put on their holiday program . As all the children wore their Santa, Reindeer, Snowflake and Frosty hats little faces all a glow , voices were exuberant in their renditions and they joyously proclaimed the fun that was coming . My eyes and heart fell on Braedyn singing along
Oh, bring us some figgy pudding,Oh, bring us some figgy pudding,Oh, bring us some figgy pudding, And bring it right here.Good tidings we bring you and your kin;We wish you a merry Christmas And a Happy New Year!
I realized not one of them, including my own grandson, probably had any idea what figgy pudding was . For the cooks among you there are two versions – Figgy Pudding and Christmas Pudding – http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/warm-sticky-figgy-pudding-recipe-1918585
Traditionally we and my family, through the generations, used the Christmas Pudding and this is the recipe that is close to what we always served.( although instead of glace fruit – which I hate -we add dried apricots , shredded carrot and a shredded Granny Smith apple .) http://allrecipes.co.uk/recipe/33519/delicious-christmas-pudding.aspx
Every year my mum and I faithfully made the “real” fruitcake -( not that terrible American facsimile that is tossed like rotten pumpkins) and Christmas Pud. It was tradition and Christopher’s job from about the age of 7 was to bring in the lighted pudding to the table – he loved lighting the pudding but never ate any. The only ones eating it were my mother and I and my husband would “force a little down”. Christopher was the last to light a pudding in this house.
However, as I looked at all those little faces – I said to Nikki:
Gavin and Braedyn have no idea what they sing about with this song . They have never seen a Christmas pudding !
I decided then it was time to hand the tradition over to my daughter and grandsons. We had missed out on “Stir Up Sunday” but better late than never http://metro.co.uk/2017/11/26/stir-up-sunday-what-is-this-christmas-pudding-tradition-all-about-7109142/
All the members of the family, especially the kids, need to take a turn to stir the mixture and everyone should make a secret wish while they stir.
Gavin had gone hunting with his Dad but Braedyn and his mum were game – so over the river and through the snowy streets they came today . Ingredients all measured out and we have a new pudding maker in the family under the watchful eye of his Nana .
We all made our wishes , there were smiles and a few opinions as to how much brandy went into the pudding and now they – the puddings ( we made too much mixture so now we have two) bubble and sing on the stove for the next few hours. I am not sure about the traditional pudding boiling away on Christmas Eve this year with the lobsters in the pot – but to each his own………..
Dec 3rd- The waiting – Chris Ritchey
The dark days are here – night-time draws ever closer- I am as a child frightened of the coming bleak hours/ days – cuddled down in the bed that is life -looking for warmth- a place to escape the dreading – a window has a glimmer of a lighter shade of night illuminating the place where I lay.
Still my eyes are drawn to the corners , where darkness has gathered and I know that as the dying days draw ever nearer I will have to face that darkness that has accumulated and grown over the days , months and years . As hard as I try to keep back the darkness of those days of death , they are ever-present waiting to be released by the memories of your dying and those terrible days.
The hope – massacred by cancer causing the onslaught of a pain so deep , a scream that never ends just becomes silent – to all but a few. Every year I dread these days , the holidays that hold so much more to me now than pumpkin pies, turkey, lighted trees , singing – they are tinged with a blight that dulls happiness to that of a shadow of holidays past.
You are with us , I know.. more so than any other … and for that I am grateful.. but I long to see your face.. hear your voice…… and laugh at your irreverence instead I have to pull over my face the covers of protection- muffle my sobs into the bosom of my family and wait…………….
I love and miss you more with each passing day
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