The Magic of Christmas and the Tragedy of Tears

The cold December air is dotted with the magic of Christmas and the tragedy of tears
I breathe in….
Christmas trees and children’s smiles, holding hands, snuggling in front of the fire place, football games and reindeer sweaters, love of family and egg nog, Christmas church service and silent night.
I breathe out…
Test results, doctor’s appointments, surgery coming, uncertainty looming, my daughter, my fiancé, my Mom, my brothers, my best friend, my dog, my work, my life.
Every day I wake up ready to begin again. Every day I go to bed and pray I get more days to begin again. And cry.
It snows and I dance and catch snow flakes on my tongue.
I pretend the word cancer doesn’t scare me. I pretend that I’m immortal.
I think about Santa Claus.
Everything feels like a gift right now.
My 13 month old is throwing a fit as she tries to find words she doesn’t know yet and reminds me that not everybody is busy thinking about miracles.
I watch her fit turn to smiles at the dog and my heart melts while my stomach turns in circles at the thought of missing these moments.
My fiance’ sings, “Hey Diddle Diddle” while he makes us lunch and life is good, better than good, life is perfect.
Isn’t this always the way life is, but without test results looming we don’t take the time to appreciate it.
This is probably the most magical December I’ve ever experienced waiting for my doctor to read my palm and tell me my future. I wonder how much of my future is really up to him anyway and how much of it is plain and simply up to God.
After all, it is Christmas.