For me that song is a particular Christmas carol, the title of which I will not reveal out of respect for my heart. I have an almost allergic reaction to this song, meaning that I have no mental control over the feelings it evokes. If it pops up on the radio while I'm playing with the kids or engaged in a conversation I stand a chance of distracting myself from its power. But if I hear the song in any venue in which I am obliged to pay attention - a holiday concert, for instance - I'm totally screwed.
My reaction to said Christmas carol first appeared three years ago. I had had a pregnancy that year but miscarried at twelve weeks. I had carried the baby long enough to feel like a mother and to look like a mother-to-be. My due date was Christmas day.
Any woman who has lost an unborn child carries in her heart the imprint of a soul only she knew.
The experience made me stronger and more fragile and certainly more vulnerable. Now a Christmas carol triggers an explosion of emotions.
This year it happened at Symphony Hall at the holiday family concert. I took my oldest son and we had a grand time and at the end of the show was a sing-a-long - the worst case scenario for surviving my Christmas carol. As hundreds of families began to sing together, I felt the familiar surge of grief. But, as my eyes filled with tears, I noticed a second emotion creeping in. I thought of my son curled by my side who was finally old enough to attend this wonderful concert. I thought of my fat, healthy twin toddlers who weighed under five pounds just a year ago. The song still provoked overwhelming feeling but for the first time the old grief was balanced with simple, powerful gratitude.
happy holidays from our family to yours
