Merry Christmas from This Being Human....
During this time of year I am usually thinking of my father who was at this time, in 1944, being escorted through the gates of Stalag 1XB. But this year, perhaps due the emotional highs and lows (mostly lows) that I'm experiencing due to pending divorce, am thinking often of my mother. A few years before my father passed away, when he was struggling through a day to day existence, (much like when he was a P.O.W.) my mother could see over the precipice. The days were growing short. The reality of finding herself without him mocked her like the jester of death pointing his bony finger signaling towards the grave. I offered to walk to church with her on a dark and moonless night on Christmas Eve. Snow danced through the air trying to stay aloft fearing that once they touched solid ground they too would be no more. The children, at least those that were left in the ever dwindling congregation, marked the occasion with skits and song. At the evenings conclusion, the children passed ou...