hair. “Candlelight on Christmas Eve. Carols. It will lift your spirits.”
I still don’t want to go, but I nod, reluctantly, because it feels too selfish and mean to refuse.
Nick gives my shoulders a quick squeeze before he steps away. “Great. I’ll get the kids ready.”
Ten minutes later, we’re all walking towards the Episcopal church in the center of town, with its stained-glass windows and arched red doors. It’s still snowing, which makes everything magical, and there is a festive spirit in the air, with people smiling and nodding at each other, the occasional “Merry Christmas!” ringing out.
It’s hard not to be affected by it, at least a little, and even though I’m still dragging inside, I summon a smile for both Emma and Josh. They don’t smile back, not exactly, and I see a flicker of uncertainty in their eyes—or am I imagining it? Hoping for anything other than the unyielding hardness I’ve felt from them for the last few months?
We walk in silence into the church, slipping inside the candle and evergreen-scented interior, an organ playing “What Child is This” as we take our place in one of the pews. The place fills up quickly, the mood both hushed and happy.
I think of all the Christmas Eves we’ve come to this church, from when Emma and Josh were babies, to toddlers running through the aisles and then a bit older, bouncing off the walls with excitement over Christmas. Even as teenagers, they got into the spirit of the thing, happy to hold their candles as the congregation sang “Silent Night.” Nothing has to change now.
As the service begins, I tell myself to count my blessings, because I know that I still have so many, even if it’s hard to remember what they are. Then, as we stand to sing “Once in Royal David’s City,” a sudden, surprising thought occurs to me: Could even this be a blessing?
Next to me, Nick sings out lustily, as he always does. “Where a mother laid her baby, in a manger for his bed. Mary was that mother mild, Jesus Christ her little child.”
I think of Mary, gently laying her son in his makeshift cradle, having no idea what sorrows and grief were ahead of her. Yet would she have had regrets? Would she have chosen not to have him, if she’d been given the choice? Did she find joy in the sorrow, blessing within the curse? Would I?
Of course, I can hardly compare myself to Mary, yet I think of mothers everywhere—mothers who loved so hard, whose hearts were broken, who gave themselves again and again and sometimes—often—got nothing back. Would they regret loving their children, giving them all that they could, when they could? I don’t think so.
Nick glances at me, and I realize I’ve stopped singing as the thoughts unfurl inside me. Could Emma dropping out of Harvard actually be a blessing? Could Josh’s suspension? Could hard things get us to a good place, one where we didn’t even know we needed to be?
“Ally…” Nick whispers, concerned, and I do my best to smile at him and then I start to sing.
Christmas has neither breakthroughs nor breakdowns, and I count that as a blessing. There are no heartfelt conversations, no terrible arguments. Josh smiles and says thanks when he opens the hoodie I got him for Christmas; while making dinner, Emma offers to do the gravy. Small things, but I treasure them in a way I wouldn’t have before. I feel fragile, but I also feel strong. I have no idea what the next few weeks or months or years will bring.
By the time Beth brings Dylan back the day after Christmas, I have at least edged back from the brink. I open the door as soon as I see their car pull into the drive. Beth gets out slowly, but when she opens the back door, Dylan clambers out and barrels towards me.
I let out a startled but happy “oof” as his arms come around my waist. Then I look up at Beth and see how stricken she looks, before she clears her expression, and gently I pry Dylan off me.
“It’s good to see you, Dylan.”
“Good,” he says, smiling at me. “Good.”
Beth draws a hitched breath before turning to get Dylan’s bag out of the car.
“Did you have a nice time?” I ask Dylan, and he hunches his shoulders before trying to hug me again.
“We did,” Beth says as she comes towards me with his bag. She doesn’t sound very