Peter’s daily nap took little effort on his part. The longer, cold nights combined with the shorter, slate gray days created a perfect environment for insomnia prevention. The regular sleeps, whether an afternoon siesta or night-long break from reality, gave some measure of relief from the constant heartache brought on by the memories.
Since her passing, the holidays were always a difficult time, rendering the frequent, daily sleeps even more welcome and, perhaps, more necessary. The onset of her illness was unidentifiable, but its discovery was certainly no cause for thanksgiving. To say the holiday was stigmatized in Peter’s heart was the most drastic understatement imaginable. What he found most difficult was preaching to his flock about being thankful for adversity, while he and Elaine continued to struggle with not only the fight against the illness, but also the timing of the starkly brutal discovery — but minister on he did.
Elaine fought on for years, beating the odds on the power of prayer and the eagle’s wings of hope. Her body was broken by the illness and treatments, but by the Spirit her spirit did not waver. They rarely spoke of the inevitable earthly ending, but when they did she insisted that he continue on his life path, the one they had formed together. They had forsaken everything, including having their own family, to focus solely, and soul-ly, on ministry. So firm was her insistence that he continue, she shared a dream that once the disease claimed her that God would provide Peter another worthy companion. “Perish the thought,” he would say to her. “Keep her here with me,” he would pray to God.
That fall, what had been a slow deterioration in her health became a rapid acceleration of the brutal symptoms foretold many Thanksgivings earlier. Through the fight she held onto the promise, and he held onto hope. They both prayed for another miracle. Just one more Christmas together — just one. Please.
The straw that broke the preacher’s back was when Elaine was claimed by God on the night before Christmas Eve. The birth of The Savior contrasted with the loss of a warrior. How much further can a heart break?
His resignation from the ministry was immediate. Those to whom he and Elaine had ministered all those years proved worthy lay ministers themselves when the mantle of caring was passed from shepherd to flock. Alone, or together with any that would pray with him, he just asked for the realization of that last Christmas that was taken from them. “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away,” indeed.
His dreams of Elaine were frequent, frustrating, and fallow. The dreams were as short as they were nebulous. Not so much dreams, but more faded snapshots. When there was motion, he would reach out to her and not be able to touch, then awaken. He would speak to her and she was unresponsive, then he would wake. When her lovely lips did move he heard nothing, and he would open his eyes to an empty, dark room. Except for Ellie.
A friend introduced Ellie to Peter as a way of creating a new aspect of life to help Peter reintegrate. Peter’s reluctance to the idea gave way to instant acceptance, as he and Ellie connected immediately when they were introduced.
Peter knew the steps in the grieving process by heart — shock, grief, reintegration. But, like God’s “thanksgiving” revelation of Elaine’s illness, his acceptance and working of those steps into his life and heart was impossible. Reintegration is difficult when one keeps slipping back to living the loss. Over time, any steps toward reintegration were thwarted by memories. The memories could be triggered by a conversation, a song, the reading of a familiar Bible verse, or even a walk through the kitchen. This chain, for Peter, would seemingly never be broken.
However, once he was resigned to the permanence of Ellie in his life, Peter felt a move away from grief. There was no reintegration for Peter, as the landscape of his life had been permanently altered. With Ellie, there was a new beginning. Where grieving is a pause button of sorts, the return to life is the restart button after grief has been put away. He knew the old life on earth would never come back, but perhaps Ellie’s relentless outpouring of attention and affection, and her insistence that the attention and affection be returned, would put Peter on a new path. He gave in to her.
She would beg him to go places. Places he and Elaine never visited. No reintegration here, as this was all brand new. His reluctance to make new friends was quickly broken by Ellie’s outgoing personality, the ease with which she made new friends out of perfect strangers, and her unwillingness to leave for home even when the time to socialize with new friends was over.
Even the car rides to their new spots were an adventure. Peter soon grew to appreciate the fact that Ellie could make friends with anyone, anywhere, at any time — even when riding in the car. So vivacious she, that those in other cars could not resist making fast friends. Her magnetism not only drew in new friends, but also drew something out of Peter that he did not know existed.
Not so much reintegrating, but creating new memories between them. The joy of the days was still punctuated by the dreams of Elaine at night, but the frequency of those dreams ratcheted down. Still faded photos. Still silent pictures. Still frustrating in their unfulfilled promise. Damn those dreams. Damn those bittersweet dreams!
As their courtship continued, more of Ellie’s extroversion began to infect Peter’s introversion — his natural introversion as an analytical and the introversion he acquired as part of the grieving process. So wrapped in his grief was he, that during that time his only thoughts were of what had been and his only prayers were to return to the past reality. Now, Peter found himself making new friends right along with Ellie.
These were different from the acquaintances of his and Elaine’s past. These were not people coming to him for advice, prayers, a sympathetic ear, or words of forgiveness. These were people who came first for the friends they had in common, then to discover commonalities among themselves. Not that there was anything wrong with the past he and Elaine had shared, but a broadening of horizon that showed Peter there was much more on the landscape of life than giving and ministering.
As the human interaction continued and the breadth of acquaintanceships widened, Peter discovered that something was missing. Not so much Elaine, although the dreams persisted, but a sense of broader purpose. Through everything, Peter’s prayer and devotion life stayed intact. But the prayers now took on an extroverted tone, and the devotions moved to topics of involvement rather than solitude.
Conversations were about present and future; songs sang of hope and expectation; the reading of familiar Bible verses pointed to callings; and walks through the kitchen were inevitably punctuated by Ellie’s insistence to get up and out.
Peter began to look forward to their dog park trips as much as Ellie. There was never a time she turned down the chance to go, but there were times it seemed she would be just as comfortable staying home and being a dog — eating, brief tours outside, beating Peter out of treats, and generally laying about contemplating inertia as a lifestyle. Alas, a dog’s life.
Two years after the worst Christmas of his mortal life, Peter again heard the call to serve. He was told about the opening by one of the dog park friends, the two-legged kind. The church across town was looking for a shepherd to lead the flock just through this Christmas season. Their pastor had been called away because of a death in his family many miles away. Peter accepted the temporary calling without hesitation. So focused was his preparation that, except for the dog park, prayers, and devotion, nothing else mattered. He was genuinely looking forward to this!
‘Twas the night before Christmas, so Peter and Ellie shared a Christmas treat before trundling off to bed. The undecorated, quiet house belied none of the holiday to come. It was just another home on just another winter’s night. Although the decorations remained in storage, there was a difference in the spirit in the home that created an illumination all its own. All is calm. Welcome the relief of sleep, built not on grief and sadness, but on new reintegration and calling.
This dream was different. Angelic voices singing new carols that were oddly familiar. Indescribable Christmas smells — dozens of smells all individually recognizable but combined into one, wonderful olfactory potpourri. Amazing sights — divine brightness, yet bearable and peaceful to the sensitivity of human eyes. Indescribable tastes — peppermint, eggnog, cranberry, cookies. All senses on high alert with no effort on Peter’s part. No sense touched through the normal receptors, but realized at once through his inner soul. Though only seconds old, Peter felt as if he had been in this moment forever. Then it happened.
The touch. The missing sense of touch. From the Holy, indescribable light came the touch on his hand. Elaine’s touch on his hand. A touch that enveloped his spirit. As her features filled out, Peter’s reluctance to speak was overcome by his curiosity.
“Elaine?”
“Yes Peter.”
“God sent me another companion!”
“I told you.”
Simultaneously, in unison they breathed: “Merry Christmas. I love you.”
The dream faded, but the sensory images remained — all but the sense of touch. Peter turned to the cool side of the pillow and fell back asleep. When he woke, the smells of the dream persisted, his taste buds smacked of Christmas cheer, and every carol he knew played joyously but gently in his head.
He and Ellie got out of bed, she to a classic dog down stretch and he to his knees for prayer. They emerged from their bedroom to a magically, fully decorated Christmas home.
Merry Christmas
