How can I write all that I’m feeling when I don’t even know where to start…
I guess I’ll start with with this: I’m not a particularly nice or mushy or sentimental person. I hold those cards pretty close to my chest and reveal them to very few. And since having my dearest little Avery Blue, for reasons that are my own, I keep them even closer. So having said that, there are often moments where I have no idea how I have the friends I do. I haven’t the slightest clue why the people around me continue to help and call and care.
This Christmas Eve & Day I was planning on it being just me and Avery – by ourselves. It wasn’t for a lack of invitations, but something in my heart wanted it to be her and I – because at the end of the day, that is what it comes down to. Avery and I are a little family with just the two of us. So the number of invitations I received for Christmas Eve were appreciated, but made me feel like others were thinking that just she and I being together wasn’t enough. That we somehow needed to be a part of someone else’s family to be “complete”. There was something about that that unsettled me. Perhaps it’s because I fear that she will feel that in the future – that I am not enough of a “family” for her… I don’t know. I’m sure that’s part of the bigger reasoning, but going down a rabbit hole of my fears as a single parent isn’t what this post was about!
My friend Kerry had asked, no insisted, that Avery and I come to her house for Christmas Eve morning (they were celebrating Christmas morning one day early). Still ruminating on those aforementioned feelings, I politely declined. Nope, she kept on asking. Even called to see if the reason I didn’t want to come was because I don’t like receiving presents in front of a crowd. “No, no – I just want to hang out with Avery.” Finally, I acquiesce. “I’ll be there at 11” I text her.
So, Christmas Eve morning arrives. As soon as Avery wakes from her morning nap I have her dressed in red velvet and we’re flying out the door. During the drive over I feel my reluctance in going. Just a little something nagging me – I cannot tell you what. Just something. I pull into the driveway and Kerry comes out, full of Christmas joy and smiles and so happy – and I’m just there. Bringing Avery to a party that I know she’ll love. When I walk in the door I see a huge pile of presents under the tree and the thought that goes through my head is “Kerry’s kids are so lucky”.
We sit and eat and, of course Avery is a perfect, delightful doll. And then Kerry says something about opening presents and I feel a pang because 1) I don’t have a present for a single person there and 2) I felt slightly awkward watching everyone open all their gifts.
Well, it turns out everyone has already opened their gift. And the WHOLE PILE I mentioned earlier was for Avery and I. Stockings included. Present after present. And under a huge Fraser fir tree, with the fireplace roaring in the background, her kids helped Avery rip wrapping paper off present after present. Cameras clicking in the background, capturing all these precious moments. It was absolutely incredible. My initial reluctance and jealously gave way to new feelings of embarrassment and gratefulness.
How is this possible? How can I be such a needy, perpetually broke, and somewhat ornery friend and get all of this in return? Presents were finished, toys were played with, the new car seat was installed, and we prepared to leave. With a few moments alone I cozied up in the big leather chair next to the fireplace to nurse Avery for a few minutes and found myself tearing up. This. This huge display of love from Kerry – for not only my child, but for me as well. And it’s not just Christmas and presents – it’s always. It’s constant.
Who do I call when Avery goes to the ER? Who comes to my rescue at 3am when I’m writhing in the couch with the stomach flu? Who tolerates my brash, dry, and sometimes biting sense of humor? And who continually, constantly, and without condition loves me?
Kerry. My Christmas Eve Miracle.