The only gift is a portion of thyself. -- Ralph Waldo Emerson
This morning I awoke to the snap snap snapping of noise makers Santa brought the nephews to use cheering each other at the hockey rink. 6.40 am! Apparently the little one woke up my brother-in-law at 2.17 am to ask if he could see if Santa had come already... Um, nope.
In watching the nephews open their stockings and other gifts, I can see they love the new fun toys. They also love the surprise of opening gifts and discovering what is inside. And this year, they really got into figuring out gifts for other people. Both boys chose hockey cards they thought their Poppa would like and wrapped them up. He was pretty thrilled.
Last night, I watched my sister and brother-in-law stuff their stockings and felt melancholy. Christmas is a hard time to be with your family sometimes. I found myself wishing I had a husband who adored me and worked with me to create a special life. And wishing I had children to delight, to worry over, to surprise. My life is rich with family and friends but I wish for the intimacy of everyday life with a soul mate.
This last year has brought greater intimacy, honesty, and sharing with both M and B. Different men, different kinds of intimacy. My heart feels warm thinking of them both. And both are walking wounded, on a personal path of recovery of self, like I am.
And my life is rich with friends from OA, also wonderful people on personal journeys of healing, hope, and strength. I have learned so much in this last year from all these generous people, willing to share of their deepest selves. And in sharing of myself, I have also learned more, felt more acutely and loved freely. These are precious gifts indeed.
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