Christmas 1990. The year I lost my mother.
I was to spend it with my Auntie
To offer respite to my grieving father
guarding against pain, unconsciously, I threw
myself into the wonder of it
hardly being able to keep still Christmas night, so
off to Midnight Mass we went
to give poor old Saint Nick a chance
to visit.
It isn’t so much the church ceremony I remember
(though its scent of incense lingers)
it was stopping
by the wayside Nativity:
spellbound by those luminescent figures
the glow on the face on that Holiest of Mothers
lit by electric light
but still somehow
conveying wonders:
like a ruby held up to the sunrise. Is it still a stone,
or a world
made of redness?
Written for dVerse poetics: Stepping off the Sidewalk. Laura is hosting and has given us inspiration from the mystic poets. The prompt is this:
‘let your imagination become a springboard to the mystical/sacred‘
We have been given a choice of 8 fragments from the mystic poets to include within our own poem. I used the following lines as the conclusion to my poem:
‘Like a ruby held up to the sunrise. Is it still a stone, or a world made of redness?’ (Rumi)
This poem was inspired by the outdoor nativity scene outside St Joseph’s Roman Catholic Church in Cockermouth, England, c.1990, which looked something like this:
Though it may look somewhat tacky by modern standards, to my child’s eyes it was a thing of wonder. Small wonder that I was drawn to the Holy Mother so soon after having lost my own.
By a strange coincidence, St Joseph’s Church is on the same street as the birthplace of Wordsworth, with whose poetry Laura introduces tonight’s prompt.
I was so touched by your words and how you used that Rumi quote to convey the sight of the nativity scene conveying wonders just when your own family so tragically split
“spellbound by those luminescent figures
the glow on the face on that Holiest of Mothers
lit by electric light”
Thank you, Laura 😊
I was going to say, Cockermouth is Wordsworth territory. Midnight Mass was magical. The Catholic Church certainly knew something about theatricals 🙂
I was terrified inside the Church as I was not a Catholic and I thought they’d find me out!
Fear and awe. It works so well 🙂
p.s. just noticed where the scene was – Wordsworth territory – what a coincidence
I’m not religious, but I was always drawn to nativity scenes as a child, I still am. Your anecdotal poem is very moving, Ingrid, and joyful things like brightly lit nativities take the sting out of grief for a short while.
I don’t belong to any particular religion either, but I think sometimes the idea of belonging is a comfort.
I agree.
Communing with a nativity scene, a calm place in the chaos of the holiday season, especially in your circumstances, had to feel like a direct connect with the holy spirit.
This moved me so deeply. No words.
I never go to church, but I am always captivated by the nativity scene… close to were we live there is a nativity scene built from life-size mannequins in a real stable… it always captures me… and I can really feel the additional layer how it must have felt when you had just lost your mother.
Thanks Bjorn: I think there’s something captivating about the whole story.
Ingrid, a lovely poem and a very interesting post. The photo of the nativity scene is indeed “Tacky,” but I like it anyway.
I found it interesting which details you remember about that Christmas spent with your aunt. My sister and I often compare memories of shared events. It seems that we remember almost totally different details of the same events. 🙂
Joys of the season! <3
The excellence of it all.
Peas & Aces xo
Strange how certain words and phrases can trigger memories. Well-penned.
Such a lovely piece Ingrid – full of child’s hope and delight – leaving the house so ‘St Nick’ can visit – and that ‘tacky’ nativity scene – made so poignant by the loss and pain for you and your family. (I too remember feeling like an impostor at a Catholic mass – I was sure the eyes of the statues followed me)
Thanks Peter!
Movingly related, Ingrid, and very impressive how you worked in that ruby closing. I haven’t been inside a church for about half a century now, but when I read your lines I, too, could still smell the incense. Great stuff.
Thanks Ron, pleased it evoked some memories of childhood.
We attend Christmas Eve mass too. I am sorry to read that you lost your mother during this special time.
I love the Nativity scene:
the glow on the face on that Holiest of Mothers
lit by electric light
but still somehow
conveying wonders:
Thank you Grace. I haven’t attended for years but the memory stays with me.
Oh my heart this is poignant! I love the sensitivity with which this poem is penned 💝
Thank you Sanaa 🥰
Sad and beautiful Ingrid. Such a difficult time to lose a beloved parent. When I was a child, I would go to midnight mass with my father. He went aisle to aisle, reaching down the length of each with the long cane handle of the collection basket — his assigned task. I loved it. I sat in the pew, soothed by the warmth of the candle glow, mesmerized by the festive adornments of the church and the priest, stirred by the music, enchanted by the Latin — and high as a kite on the incense. Those were the last years of my catholicism. A few years later the assistant pastor molested two alter boys. I never looked back.
It’s tragic and terrible the abuse of power within this and other churches. I’ve never been a member of any organised reason and partly for this reason.
The wonderment of Christmas and the nativity so beautifully expressed, Ingrid!
Thank you, Eugenia!
Most welcome, Ingrid!
I think sometimes we are drawn in a mystical way to help us in our journey. I do feel sometimes the universe intervenes in our behalf. A time for healing and hope. Wishing you peace during the holiday, I am sure it it
difficult.
Thank you so much. It gets easier as the years go by.
Your poem brings to mind how some memories become a part of us.
The contrast of celebration and loss must be so much for a child to hold.
These are the lines that caught my attention,
“the glow on the face on that Holiest of Mothers
lit by electric light
but still somehow
conveying wonders:”
Thank you Ali 🙏
First, I want to send you loving kindness as you approach the thirty-year date of losing your mom. I imagine the passing of years does not lessen the pain of your loss.💗
Your poem moved me and reminded me of scents I associate with certain memories. Also, the juxtaposition of a ruby held up to the sunrise and the image and question you create from that visual is quite stirring. 🌄
Thank you so much Michele. In some ways it gets easier with time 🙏❤️
I suppose so. I lost my dear Aunt, on this day, seventeen years ago. She was like a mom to me and I miss her everyday, but yes, the pain of losing her has softened. 💞
I am sorry for your loss ❤️
A powerful image at the end, with Mary lit up, it is what we hold up to our eye, like the ruby, that can color our world. I can see how that impression of Mary would stick in your mind at that time along with the church. Memories definitely color our paths as well. Thanks for sharing!
You’re very welcome 😊
This is heartbreakingly and achingly stunning, Ingrid. 💔
May I ask how old you were when you lost your mother?
-David
Thank you David. I was 8. I think about her a lot at this time of year.
Oh my goodness. No words, Ingrid. 😢
It’s ok, I’ve come to terms with it by now. I understand that you lost your father more recently? I am very sorry for your loss.
2.5 years ago. But I was 38. Quite a difference.
But the pain is more acute when it first happens. Best wishes to you at this family time!
Thanks so much <3
I think the representations, or symbols, do become real in such circumstances. And wonder is always magic and real. (K)
I could not get my first comment to go through…
Wonder has no limits, nor magic. The vehicle through which it works can be anything. (K)
Thank you Kerfe 😊
Such a touching and evocative poem. This reminds me of the year we lost my grandfather just before Christmas. my grandma was so strong throughout and still had all the Christmas decorations up, still hosted the family at her house, because that’s what was planned. Any time I see the particular decorations that were up then, or a silver and white tree, it reminds me of that Christmas.
Thank you so much, and I am sorry for your loss. Sometimes keeping going is all we can do 🙏
Indeed. This loss was a long time ago now, and sadly joined by others. I link to think of them all keeping each other company. I’m also sorry for your loss.
What a beautiful memory…..oh yes, seen from a child’s eyes things can be wondrous. I remember about ten years ago going back to the city I grew up in. We drove around to see the landmarks I remembered: my gradeschool, the two houses I grew up in (one whose front porch I played on, now with peeling paint and sagging down on one side). But the most amazing was walking into the church we always went to….and I always thought it was so large. I’d remembered the “grotto” in the side of the church….made a black jagged stones with a statue of Mary inside and all the racks of votive candles one could light. I’d always thought this a magical, heavenly, other-worldly little corner of the church. As an adult who had not seen in for probably forty years or more, I now saw the black rock was some kind of plastic set, and the votive candles were now some kind of battery run candles where you just pushed a button on them and a fake “flame” lit; and the church itself seemed so very small. Oh yes…..a child’s view is so very different….and how I wished we’d not gone into the church. I much preferred my memories.
Oh that really illustrates well how the magic of childhood fades as we get older. I remember going back to my primary (elementary) school as an adult and being shocked by how small everything looked, and how vast and intimidating it had seemed at the time!
A mother’s love is a thing of beauty and a true source of inspiration.
what a loving tribute to your mother and the seasonal spirituality, a delightful blend of realism with mysticism
Such a memory to have, mystical and magical, wrapped in the wondering of why. Blessings!
Thank you Mary 😊
to my child’s eyes it was a thing of wonder.
Small wonder that I was drawn to the Holy Mother
so soon after having lost my own.
The natural innocence of childhood brought to life so beautifully in your poem, Ingrid!
Hank
The way you ended the poetry was striking … left me in awe. Beautifully done.
A bittersweet memory… and you incorporated the quote beautifully
Love the way you wove the Rumi quote into this poem. And the poem itself dredged up a lot of special memories. Thanks!
A beautifully portrayed memory, with a smooth flow into the ending of a ruby. I happen to love Rumi’s quote as well.
It’s very evocative, isn’t it?
Many of Rumi’s quotes amaze me.