Christmas Carol

Yesterday I did the single-mom thing from after school 'til bedtime as Anthony was teaching a class then went to yoga. Beatrice and I were on the couch, she nestled between my legs as we read her new batch of winter-themed library books one by one. I had the radio on in the background, set to the station which is playing Christmas music nonstop. I was in the middle of reading aloud when all of a sudden Josh Grobin's version of O Holy Night came on. Immediately my throat shut and I choked on my words. That Christmas song is my favorite, and one that has a rich tradition in my family. My maternal grandfather, who died when I was two months old, was the choir director and cantor at his church for years and years. My mom often spoke of his singing this song and she would choke up when telling about it or close her eyes and get quiet when she heard it being sung, like she was being transported to another place and time. She sang or hummed it to me countless times. My uncles had a barbershop quartet and they sang an a capella version of it, half in English and half in French, at my brother Dan's wedding ten years ago which was one of the most beautiful musical performances I remember. My uncle Charlie has soloed this piece at midnight mass numerous times. My mom's extended family are all singers and we sing carols together Christmas night. We joke through Partridge in a Pear Tree and Here Comes Santa Claus, inevitably miscount the number of "pum's" in Little Drummer Boy, and no one can ever remember the words to O Tannenbaum or Aulde Lang Syne. But, when O Holy Night comes on, it is sacred and the "fall on your knees" or "peuple a genoux" refrain is powerful every time. It is that rich in Archambault tradition, my maternal bloodline. My mom died seven years ago this past September. Hard to believe. There was a time when I thought I could not possibly have a child without her around, that it would be too painful to NOT have here to watch her grandchild grow. Now I have a daughter, an incredible daughter. My mom was an amazing "Memere" to the two grandchildren she got to know, and I know that the three who have joined the family since her death have a less quality life because they do not have her in it. I was born on Christmas and it was our holiday, my mom's and mine that is. She was a December baby and she gave birth to two others. Each year she would recount the story of my birth to me and how we spent Christmas Day together, just the two of us. She told me, as a good mother should, that it was the best Christmas of her life. So this season is now one with mixed emotions for me, the time of year I miss Ma the most. How I wish she were here to share Beatrice's first Christmas and how I wish she could see me be a Mama. Yet yesterday somehow on that couch, Beatrice's memere was around, just for a moment. And so was my daughter, who is perfect to me in every way, as I was to my Mama. And I felt filled with the Christmas spirit, excited to pass on the deep and meaningful Christmas traditions to my child. And it all felt so right.