One night, 20 years ago-maybe more, maybe less, I wished upon a star. My wish was made in the midst of angst and anxiety and constant, debilitating worry. It was made with the deepest desperation of my soul, but I never told anyone.
After dinner, my little family of three drove around town looking at Christmas lights. We ooh-ed and aah-ed over the twinkles of icicle lights, projection screens, and the various lawn displays (including more than one snowman wearing a camouflage vest and carrying a shotgun). We drove around until our 5 year old son fell sound asleep in the backseat. And, for the first time in years, I carried him from the car to his bed and laid him down without waking, dressed him in pajamas, and tucked him in.
I felt every bit of Mary Hatch with her desperate, window-shattering wish.
I wish, someday, I will have the life I dream about.
Driving home tonight, with my child sound asleep in the back seat, I realized that my wish from so many years ago DID come true. It came true today; over the course of a regular day, fraught with the frantic bustle and chaos of approaching holidays...
This morning, I woke up in a home warmed by the heat of a wood stove. This home, my home, complete with stairs and a wraparound porch, was the envy of my eye for many years, and sometimes it's still hard to believe it is ours. I stood at the sink and watched the sky lightening over the top of Goosenest and Willow Creek, the same skyline I enjoyed as a child in my parents' home just a few miles down the road.
This morning, I spent my day as a middle school teacher on the last day before Christmas Break. I wore my pajamas to school with a pair of red Converse and received many sweet, thoughtful, and delicious tokens of gratitude and affection from my students. I remembered what it felt like to be a kid on the days leading up to Christmas, and the anticipation was palpable.
This afternoon, I picked up my son at my parents house, where he spent the morning baking and decorating Christmas cookies with my mom. When I arrived, he was playing baseball on the front lawn of the home where I grew up; the same lawn where I learned to play baseball. My heart was warmed to think of the ever-growing relationship between Holt and his grandparents, and how lucky my son is to grow up with all four grandparents living so near.
This afternoon, I took Holt to practice for the Christmas Eve nativity play at church. My church. The church where I was baptized and acted in the same nativity play 30 years ago. The church where my grandparents, parents, and my husband and I were married. I sat up at the altar with my son and remembered the same nervous anxiety I felt when I stood up front for the first time. I told him exactly where the family would be sitting and where to look for comfort and reassurance because, well, that's where we always sit.
After Holt's play practice at church, we went to the local retirement home to watch my nephew sing Christmas carols with his preschool class, and then to dinner with my parents and my brother, sister-in-law, and nephew. As is often the beauty of small towns, three separate people stopped by our tables to chat and we saw no less than five other people we knew.
After dinner, my little family of three drove around town looking at Christmas lights. We ooh-ed and aah-ed over the twinkles of icicle lights, projection screens, and the various lawn displays (including more than one snowman wearing a camouflage vest and carrying a shotgun). We drove around until our 5 year old son fell sound asleep in the backseat. And, for the first time in years, I carried him from the car to his bed and laid him down without waking, dressed him in pajamas, and tucked him in.
The answer to a wish and a prayer from so many years ago. If I had blinked too long I would have missed it.
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