Author: Mark Myers

I am a husband of one, father of four daughters, a dreamer, a builder, a believer, and most enjoyably a writer. In 2015, I became a reluctant Childhood Cancer Advocate as we lost our youngest daughter Kylie to the disease. Kylie taught me to steal joy from even the worst of circumstances and I will always be on the lookout for happiness among the thorns of life. Join me for a generous helping of laughter and tears.

My New Years Manifesto

.Reading time 5 minutes.

On our way home from the afternoon Christmas Eve service, we found ourselves in need of a few items. The parking lot of the grocery store was packed beyond belief, so I volunteered to be the sacrificial lamb and go inside. As expected, it was a madhouse of buggies and frantic shoppers.

I wound my way through the chaos to the back corner in search of three potatoes. Their supplies were dwindling but I got what I needed then found myself stuck between two carts. On one side was a large man who had assumed an aggressive posture and on the other was a slight, older woman dressed in an ornate sari. She had a look of terror in her eyes and appeared to be pinned against a stack of bagged lettuce.

I was completely befuddled. I had absolutely no idea what could have led to this confrontation or who was in the wrong. I also didn’t know how to diffuse it. I could have turned around and taken the long way out of the produce department, but that’s just not me. Reaching into my Santa sack, I pulled out a deep and loud, “Merry Christmas.”

Angry man broke off his stare long enough to grudgingly repeat my tidings of great joy. He slowly turned his cart and wandered down another aisle. The woman gathered herself and quietly turned the other direction.

“Dude, it’s Christmas Eve!” I wanted to call after him. But I held my tongue.

What’s the matter with people?

We could ask, but we know, don’t we. We see it every day. There’s too much anger, hatred, pettiness, frustration, and mean-spiritedness in the world. There are too many verbal assaults and too few calm airing of grievances. We can lob spiteful words over the digital fence and hide behind anonymity or delete them and assume they are gone for good. It doesn’t help that the men and women who are supposed to be leading us are the worst of the lot. Our political environment has become the primary school playground back in the days when no one cared about bullying. Of course that venom spills over into us regular folk so that even on Christmas Eve we have to get to the bagged lettuce without waiting for someone else to choose.

Enough!

I can’t change the system, but I can change. So in 2018, I am adopting the following New Year’s Manifesto. Call me simple and Pollyannish, but maybe if I do something different, someone else might too. Regardless, I’ll be a better human to the people in my life.

In 2018,

  1. I will treat others better than they deserve because throughout my life I have been treated better than I deserve.
  2. I will close my mouth and consider my response before committing to it – both verbally and online.
  3. I will respond to people with kindness whenever possible and silence when it is not.
  4. I will encourage and lift up others rather than tear them down.
  5. I will be more patient tomorrow than I was yesterday.
  6. I will give grace even when unmerited and expect nothing in return.
  7. I will readily forgive because I have been forgiven… whether an apology is offered or not.
  8. I will give of my time, talent, and resources when I can – even if it is a slight inconvenience to me.
  9. I will intervene when I see others in need.
  10. I will smile more.

 

That’s it.

If I do these things in increasing measure, 2018 will be better for me and the people in my circle. That’s a start. I am even going to try to do these things when driving in Atlanta traffic.

To my friends; hold me accountable – my kids will for sure. If you see me blow it, tell me… and then please remember number 7.

Join me?

 

Happy New Year!

 

(photo attribution: Flickr – Kate Ter Haar)

 

I’m Warming up to Christmas

.Reading time 6 minutes.

My morning routine revolves around coffee and darkness broken only by the glow of a laptop screen. I don’t see the need to turn on the lights. I like the dark; I don’t know why. Oh sure, I occasionally step on things left in the floor. But as the kids have gotten older there seem to be fewer obstacles in the path. My wife doesn’t like coffee. I don’t know how she has survived this far. She also doesn’t like darkness. The minute she enters the room, she turns on a lamp.

This is also true at Christmas. Although we have lights strung on a massively fat tree, across our mantel, over the entry arches, and (need I go on) covering every available surface, I don’t turn them on. In fact, I haven’t turned on the tree since I checked the lights we strung on it. I don’t know why. I don’t see the need, I suppose. She will awaken soon and make the rounds turning on switches and plugging things in until the house is awash in color and light.

Funny how that works – how two people alike in so many ways can do things completely differently. We grieve differently, too.

When confronted with our loss, I tend to stuff it down until it is convenient whereas she lets it flow. Her way is probably healthier, but neither is wrong. They are just different.

But then December comes and even I can’t stuff it down. Colored lights… cry. Giant Christmas Pooh… cry. Reindeer ears… cry. I see her face in every decoration. Every little thing we unbox holds a memory. Part of me wants to ship all the boxes away instead of opening them; to close the lid on the entire thing and not bring this emotional mess to the surface. But Kylie loved Christmas. Her last one was so special because despite her frailty she demanded we keep every one of our traditions.

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Kylie hanging her favorite ornament
Kylie hanging her favorite ornament

 

Then came the first one without her. Everything was so raw and fresh. If we hadn’t been trying to soldier through for the sake of the other girls, I might have gotten approval from my Christmas fanatic to forgo the lights and decorations that year. The second was hard also but we knew what our triggers were. Some of them, at least. We were able to anticipate most of the more difficult things and that helped us negotiate the season. There is no avoiding everything, though, because you stumble into things like what you think is a random piece of fabric but was actually her headpiece when she played Mary in the Christmas play. And you cry.

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This is our third Christmas without Kylie. I want to preface everything I am about to say with this: I am not getting over her loss and I never will. I will miss her every minute until the day I follow her into the grave.

I haven’t done anything differently, but I find that this Christmas seems to be bringing me more joy than pain. Packed away with the elves was a note she had written and sleeping bags she had made for them while bedridden. It was the sweetest note and I could hear her speaking it. Surprisingly, I smiled. It was a touch from her that I so desperately needed. This Christmas has been like that. When I look around at the ridiculous quantity of lights and decorations she loved, I feel her more and it doesn’t (always) bring me to tears. More often, it warms my heart.

Love and pain; joy and sorrow… they are uniquely intertwined. Without love, loss wouldn’t bring pain. The absence of joy would render sorrow irrelevant. It is an unfortunate fact that we have no means of protecting that which we love. Ultimately, their safety and security is out of our hands. When we come to peace with that and still choose to love, we are setting ourselves up for pain because loss is inevitable, the only question is when.

When the loss comes, we grieve it in proportion to the amount we loved. And in a strange way, the pain of loss perpetuates the love. The sorrow of a memory that causes tears in one moment often brings her smile to mind the next. The emotions are mercifully mingled together and I would rather feel them all than feel nothing.

When I came into the darkness this morning, I turned the tree on and plugged in our big Christmas Pooh. It wasn’t a conscious decision, I just did it. I don’t know why. With my coffee in hand I sat in their glow and brushed a few tears away, but mostly I smiled.

I think I’m warming up to this Christmas thing.