This was the first Christmas after my separation. Divorce was on the horizon.
It was the Christmas that I learned about “The Light”. The Light that is born into every darkest night. The gift The Universe gives you which is in direct proportion to the despair in your heart if you have faith.
In the weeks just prior to this Christmas, my first grand daughter was born. She was The Light in my darkness. She shone love into my soul in a way no creature ever had before. This tiny miracle come to earth was so much more than a baby born. She was hope. She was love. She was magic.
I knew — for her — I would find my way through the forest of my emotional chaos. I would be the grandmother she needed. I would never let her down. I would pour all the love I had out into her world and she would always know how precious a being she was.
The night she was born, perfect and whole, I sat on the edge of my bed and cried tears of joy. Uncontrollably. Relief for her safe arrival and complete joy at her existence. She had turned me into a grandmother. Just. Like. That.
Later, her sisters would bring about the same reactions from me with the news of their births. Tears, relief, joy. Overwhelming love.
There are three Lights in my world now. Three magical beings who give me so much more than I can ever give them. But from the first moment I held my first grand child, and on her first Christmas — I knew what real miracles were. They didn’t come with thunder and lightening. They came in the every day magic of human existence.
What child is this who lay to rest? I believe angels greet all children with anthems sweet. Or maybe that’s just their grandmothers singing them lullabys.