The longest night

On Sunday evening M and I bundled up to attend the Service of the Longest Night, sometimes called the "Blue Christmas" service.

My church position has had me head and shoulders in the sacred Christmas celebrations. My choir sang a jubilant cantata Sunday morning. We've been carolling at seniors' homes and hospitals. I've been rehearsing with soloists for tonights' Christmas Eve service.

Sunday night was just for us. The service was being held at a sister church so I had no responsibilities music-wise. The service is quiet and lovely, with the more inward carols and readings. About 20 people attended this year, and we sat in the candlelit church and listened to quite music and readings and enjoyed minutes of silence.

It was officiated by a minister I know vaguely; she's substituted at my church so I've worked with her a couple of times. I wasn't sure she would recognize me out of context. I did not know if she would know why I was there.

She did.

At the end of the service she came over and sat with M and I, talked about the difficult year we have had, what had happened with Charlotte. She asked where we found hope now. I didn't know what to say, really. I told her we have had encouragement from our doctors about trying again but we still had some realistic odds to face, which she was surprised to hear. She gave me a hug, didn't say all the wrong things, and sent us back for a slice of cherry cake.

This service could be my tradition, I think. My Charlotte part of Christmases in the future. I could picture myself stealing out from a busy house 10 years down the road to have the hour with my thoughts and my baby girl. That was comforting.

Oh, I decided to keep the glo.worm. We went out and bought replacement presents for the charity and my glo.worm is under the tree, unwrapped. No one has asked about it yet.

***

M visited the Babyland friends yesterday to drop off the baby's gift. He returned with a Christmas card, warning me there were pictures inside and I may not want to see.

Of course, I opened it.

The pictures were there, three of them. Baby in Halloween costume. Baby in front of tree and presents. Family picture in front of the fireplace, three of them. They didn't upset me. There was a folded piece of paper. I unfolded it, thinking maybe it was a note for us, but it was one of those this is what has happened this year letters, and I couldn't stop myself from reading.

I really shouldn't have read it.

It felt like a slap in the face.

She is our pride and joy and we could not be happier with the new addition to our family (the grandparents are thrilled too). She is a happy little baby that loves to smile, swim and throw her toys on the floor. She loves to splash her daddy whe he gives her a bath and have her mommy sing her Frosty the Snowman. She has been teething since she turned three months old but there are no signs of any teeth yet. She will be trying cereal for the first time on Christmas morning which I am sure will be a messy but fun experience. We are looking forward to so many more firsts with her in 2009.....

The letter was a full page, single spaced, of baby news I did not want to read. But I read it. Twice, actually.

I'm really surprised they included it, and I was outright furious at first. They're not malicious people but it felt like a horrible, mean thing to do. Why would you send a letter like that to a friend grieving their baby at Christmas? Our Christmas will be quiet and sad at best, and now I have the picture that three minutes away, a little girl who should be the age of my own baby, will be trying cereal and splashing her daddy and listening to her mommy sing.

I'm here singing Frosty to my glo.worm.

It's bad enough already. I don't need the shouldhavebeens spelled out for me in detail on snowflake paper.

It's Christmas Eve, but feels like any other Wednesday. The church service tonight will come and go and I'll make it through silent night and the reading from Luke and all of that. I'll sneak out the side door after the postlude and wind back to my car and come home. Settle in for a long, quiet night that should be anything but. Tomorrow morning we'll get up and open presents and I'll play with my camera and M with his flight simulator, and we'll eat waffles and head to the inlaws for turkey. Not a horrible day by anyone's standards, but yet still so wrong.

Just so wrong.

Merry Christmas, everyone. Such as it is.