I Leave the Christmas Lights On...
Incandescent neatly strung Warm place for feathered young Perfectly sketched with Love from He who Reigns above I see your boyish grin birthday-Christmas for the win Grownup child on the road of quaint villages stories told In the old town of cobblestones Where Dunmow folk gather their bones The crow flies in fields of wheat piano tunes sing under feet Of colored lights and compromise Happy birthday, happy life, the prize It's Christmas Day in rooms of June where gifts of you are lit at noon And I remember the redhead boy in life and death of colored joy I leave the Christmas lights on. - deborah t. hewitt
In 2020 when dad slowly passed through Thanksgiving, my 60th birthday, Christmas, his birthday, and entered heaven on New Year’s Day, 2021, we left the Christmas lights up for months. Continuing this new tradition, the neatly strewn Italian bulbs of our adulthood remained. Over 30 years with these sweet old lights, John announced it was time to let them go. This past Christmas, we hung a mid-century palette, reminding us of our own childhoods and our first years together.
Heavy go the steps of grief, softly, slowly, towards sentimental colorful joy.
Sometimes grandchildren dance near them as pieces of my heart smile through surreal memories.
John felt it time to take the outside lights down a week after New Years Day. I sorted various indoor decorations into large labeled tubs, leaving one strand wrapped around the old suction lamp.
Dad loved color as much as he loved Christmas. I remember the beads he hung in the hallway, brightly painted walls, the stereo console playing Carole King, dad on a ladder, his head holding up wallpaper, as he helped mum plant roots in America.
Through winter, spring, and now summer, I smile, nostalgic, as I feel the earth move under my feet.
I used to wonder why some people never took their lights down.
Now I know.
For some interesting history, I wrote a piece about dad’s family beginning in one of the oldest Roman towns in the world:
The Wheat and The Bird
I will never forget the opening scene in Gladiator. The strong hand gently touching the wheat in the field. The lone bird that flies away. We would soon find out it was the main character Maximus. He would lead Roman forces in 180AD against Germanic tribes and bring temporary peace to the Roman Empire. Loosely based on real characters in those times…
Oh, so beautiful! What a lovely way to remember your dad! I will think of you whenever I see Christmas lights up after January. Thank you, Deb ❤️
Amazing poetry and a beautiful story. I would have loved your dad if he liked colour. I do also, and I know my children understand that. I bought a second hand coat recently with some gorgeous Springlike stripes. I wore it outside, with my coffee, over my jammies one morning when there was a chill. Sarah says, "It's Grandma's Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat"
Your dad was a gem of a dad, it's clear. Much love from one who understands.