I am slowly taking down my Christmas decorations. I feel a little robbed of Christmas this year as you may have noticed in previous posts -- and I have decided to share some of my Christmas thoughts as I pack away my lovely things.

This Longfellow poem is one of my favorites. It translates into a beautiful, non-traditional, haunting melody when sung by an artist whose name I have lost (Windam Hill Winter's Soltice III, I think -- lost the CD, too.) It's playing in my head today, so I thought I'd share it with you.

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

Till ringing, singing on its way
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men."

Longfellow wrote this one Christmas during the Civil War. It has always haunted me, but this year moreso than ever before. I long for a blizzard. I feel my soul is snowed in.

I visited Tim's parents today. We had coffee and shared lingering grief and disbelief. In a poem he wrote when he was all of 10 years old, Tim had said "...I feel the wind in my face, I touch the sky when I'm dreaming". His mom told me she found comfort in those words when she stood on a hillside near her home and felt the wind in her face. I stood outside and felt it, too.

He used to greet me with the abandon and devotion of a puppy. "I knew you would come, " he'd say as if he'd been waiting eagerly for days. So loving. He told his dad, "I'm so glad Mrs. Johnson is in our (Scout Group). We're so lucky to have her." My personal fan club. I always believed he would outgrow that delightful enthusiasm. I wonder if he ever did.

The last time I saw him, he interacted more with my daughter than with me. He told her how pretty she was becoming. She told him he was gross. (she's 10, and for the moment finds boys to be completely abhorrent.) She doesn't feel bad about that. "I mean, how dis-GUST-ing! As if!" (the word "if" somehow takes on 2 syllables in that sentence...) We all are able to smile about that.

One day, she'll remember him telling her of her beauty -- and I think she'll cherish the memory. I know I will.

Time rolls on for us -- but not for Tim. He is our own Peter Pan -- locked forever in Never Land. A boy who will never grow up. He will never graduate, never fall in love, never marry, never have sex, never have children of his own. On the other hand he will always be the boy chasing his shadow, fighting pirates, laughing out loud at silly movies, loving and accepting with reckless abandon.

I find it amazing that time doesn't change the essence of despair. Generations of grieving, despairing people have felt the same things though the times were completely different. The human experience transcends technology and progress. People despair. It was no different for Longfellow as he observed that Christmas 160 years ago -- "Till ringing, singing on its way, The world revolved from night to day" -- Just like I felt at the basketball games -- I am standing still here, but the world is revolving from night to day, night to day. And just like me, he cries out to the heavens, "And in despair I bowed my head, "There is no peace on earth," I said, "For hate is strong and mocks the song Of peace on earth, good will to men." The war that caused Longfellow's despair is quite akin to my own personal battle today. My own civil war.

Tim's family went to see Lord of the Rings, Return of the King -- without him. He had waited all year for its release. His mother said his absence in the theatre was all that the film lacked. "He would have loved it, " she smiled. "What makes you think he missed it?" her other son, Tim's little brother asked. He sees with a child's eyes the release of Tim's spirit into the air. He knows his brother is unencumbered by the constraints of the body now. He knows things we can't imagine. Later, they visited Grandma who suffers from the early stages of Altzheimer's disease. She cannot remember the tragedy. They decide not to remind her. "Where's Tim?" "He's with a friend", they tell her. Tim's little brother smiles wide and adds, "He's with his BEST friend." (Sigh). Later, the boy tells his parents, "Won't Grandma be surprised when she gets to heaven and finds out Tim's made it there before her?" Amazing.

God is not dead, nor doth he sleep.