A small Nativity delivers hope

Come Christmas Eve it will be three years since my wife passed away. I knew her time on earth was coming to a close, as her breathing the night before was labored, her small body struggling. All I could do was suggest to the woman I’d loved for decades that it was OK to let go and, in the night, she did. So it may come as no surprise that I haven’t done much celebrating around Christmas, until this year.

In a small nod to the season, I pulled out a hand-carved wooden crèche, a simple thing reminding me of birth, not death. I recall the day some years back when we purchased it on a cold December day in a Christmas Market in Munich, Germany just off the pedestrian street Neuhauser Strasse near the city hall at Marienplatz. One of the things that attracted us to the depiction of the Nativity was its simplicity, as well as the fact that we were speaking to the woman who carved it.

Out here the season for shooting deer with shotguns has opened. Since early summer a doe and her twins have been making my neck of the woods their home and it’s been delightful watching the little ones grow, now almost as big as their mother. Yesterday I saw the young ones, alone, without mom. I worry. I know, I know, with all of the crap going on in the world today, it seems a little silly worrying about some wild creature that may or may not still be alive. Can’t help it.

Just the sight of wild creatures calms me. A week or so ago, out by my garage at night there was a quick glimpse of a red fox scampering around the corner. Every day I see red-tailed hawks, American bald eagles, and crows, many crows like perhaps Hitchcock is out here shooting a film. There is comfort in birds, keeping me in temper, in peace. It’s not a feeling I enjoy in town. The only downside this time of year is stepping outside and hearing gunfire. It’s a little disconcerting. There were no guns 2,000 years ago, so we have no way of knowing where the child who threw the moneylenders out of a temple might have stood on the issue.

This past week U.S. Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor passed away. She was the first woman to become a member of the Supreme Court, a heavy burden by any measure. My wife (Bobbi Alpers) was the first female in the State of Iowa to be named Chief Judge of a Judicial District, and her burden too, was heavy. She brought work home every night, and here’s why: She didn’t wish to fail in any way, didn’t want anyone to be able to say, “See what happens when you put a woman in charge.” Accepting that kind of weight was more than I could have endured. I adore strong women.

Both Justice and Judge passed from complications of Alzheimer’s and both died in December. Thus I’m fully aware that Christmas is a tough season for many, not just for me. I cannot selfishly make any solo claim to the ineffable sadness that belongs to this season, this time when memory takes over, this time when we all hope to meet again across the years. And this year that hope begins with a small thing, a hand-carved Nativity sitting on a table by the front windows depicting Biblical characters Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus, and a character not quite so Biblical, a little cat lying by the cradle, a cat with the same colorings as the one curled up on my lap.