And the Angels Sang
December 8, 2009 by Janice Hunter
Filed under Kitchen Table Space
Cradling a coffee to my lips like a prayer in a begging bowl, I sat alone, half hidden behind a pillar and a potted palm. The owner of the hotel, a friend, kept throwing me reassuring glances. The lights on the huge Christmas tree twinkled and raucous laughter and the smell of beer drifted in from the public bar next door.
A pretty dark eyed Polish waitress and the owner’s son and daughter smiled as they rushed back and forwards from the bar, fussing around thirty elderly residents from a local nursing home who sat at a long table drinking tea and coffee, clinking their teaspoons as they relaxed after their annual Christmas meal.
Some sat very still, their hands clasped in their laps, their eyes rheumy, dreaming perhaps of Christmases past. One dignified man in a tweed jacket and sombre tie smiled and thanked the waitress graciously for every small service. A bald man with ruddy cheeks leaned over to chat to friends who had to strain to hear, their lined faces creased in smiles.
“That’s them comin’, Charlie!” shouted one of the regulars at the bar and my heart started pounding. A group of bustling schoolchildren in school uniform was herded in by two teachers, one anxiously smiling, the other firmly issuing orders in a hushed voice that brooked no opposition.
Tall gangly boys with dishevelled uniforms jostled with nervously giggling girls as they took off coats and scarves and flustered around, gathering sheet music and producing shining brass trumpets and trombones from black leather cases lined in red velvet. One lad heaved from a heavy case an accordion that was almost as big as him. Several of the girls spotted me, smiled, whispered to my daughter, nudged her and pointed: “Look! There’s yer mum!” She saw me, broke into a sunny grin and waved a shy half wave as I smiled back and fought to stop myself grinning like a doting idiot. Her teacher leaned down smiling and whispered to me “You’ll be glad you came.” One of my daughter’s classmates started to announce the short programme. “Thank you for inviting us to come here to entertain you today.”
A short dance routine, a brass band Christmas tune, a boy playing Flower of Scotland on the accordion. I listened with half an ear, clapping loudly at the end of each performance but ever aware of my beating heart and the faces of the old folk. From behind the pillar, I couldn’t see my daughter, sitting on the floor with her friends. Only those who stepped up to perform were in my line of vision. The old folk clapped each child, each performance till their fragile hands must have ached. But one old lady in a pastel coloured cardigan didn’t clap; her face intense and panicky, she searched the faces of the youngsters, stirred perhaps by memories of Christmas concerts gone by, looking for and not finding the face of a child long gone.
And there she was. My baby, standing tall and proud in front of the assembled choir of young people I’d known since they’d played with sand and plasticine at playgroup. Nearly as tall as me now, silver tinsel in her blonde pony tail, the same intense look in her pale turquoise eyes that I’d seen in every photograph of me growing up. My friend Charlie looked over, saw me struggling with a lump in my throat and the throb of unshed tears as my girl began to sing. “It was on a starry night…” and then he looked at me, looked back at my daughter, stunned. He’d never heard her sing, knew only that I was a proud mum, knew that like him, I’d lost my elderly mum before she’d had the chance to know her youngest grandchildren. “And the angels sang for him…” The public bar fell silent. “The bells in heaven rang for him…” As her golden voice wrapped itself around everyone in the room, I felt my mother’s arms around me, holding me together. I saw the faces of those proud old people transfixed and tears streaming down their faces. After her last note had faded away into silence, there was a pause before the whole room started clapping.
The children gathered up their instruments and sheet music, chatting and giggling proudly and my daughter came over to me, her face beaming. She grew anxious when she saw my blotchy face but when I smiled, unable to speak, and pulled her to me, she stroked my hair with a wisdom beyond her years and gave me a huge, silent hug.
“And the Angels Sang” is one of my favourite pieces ever. I wrote it a few years ago and it came out in one piece, fully formed, leaving me slumped in tears over the keyboard. Karen is a wonderful friend as well as an editor and let me offer it to you as my Christmas gift.
I’ve been struggling these last few months, physically, mentally and spiritually. I know I just need to nurture myself, to give myself a chance to heal after some health issues and emotional buffeting. Ironically, while writing online can often heal me, it can also keep me overstimulated and intense, unable to switch off. When I write, I connect to something exquisite I cannot comprehend, and it transports me far beyond the kitchen table. Staying authentic leaves me vulnerable and open to an onslaught of experience, and sometimes, I just need to step away, to unplug and focus on the the tangible. To write well, I have to live well.
So please forgive me for not writing you something special for Christmas. I longed to; but I think that’s the problem. I thought I could salvage some of my Christmas Spirit by writing a perfect piece. I probably tried too hard.
I’ve been looking forward to writing my Kitchen Table Space December piece for months, since I was lucky enough to have been given this column. After all, my kitchen table is the heart of my home; it’s where we sit down to laugh and chat, drink mulled wine and eat iced fruit cake, mince pies and stollen. Charmed by the magic of the season, we eat by candlelight and Christmas tree glow all through December, and every day feels like a blessing and a prayer of gratitude. But more than that, my kitchen table is where we celebrate love and the daily details that are the breath of life itself.
The house is usually full of kids and giggling, bright eyes and wonder and my heart is usually singing with Christmas Spirit, creativity and gratitude. I’m doing all I can to preserve our holiday rituals for the kids, but this year, my heart feels stangely silent, as if shrouded in gently falling snow. I’ve been depressed before, and recognise the signs. Some years I miss my mum more than others. This seems to be one of them.
Karen asked me last week what a perfect Christmas Day feels like; I told her it feels like my heart has come safely home. I’m hoping that some self-nurture, serenity and rest will help me feel that way by Christmas Eve.
I wish the same for you. ~ Janice
Janice, this is beautiful. Who says you didn’t write something special for Christmas? I have just read it and it is magical. Thank you for taking me with you to this lovely event.
Thanks, Anne. My daughter – a few years older now – won a talent show at school a few weeks ago and I experienced that exact same emotion. Something quite wonderful happens when she’s relaxed and self assured, happy and singing and playing guitar from the soul. It’s like the veil between the seen and the unseen billows in a breeze and I’m sitting listening to her with my mum.
Christmas is my favourite time of the year. Sometimes the magic just lays still and quiet until I’m ready to catch glimpses of it or feel it in the frosty air. I’m feeling rested and serene today, more self-composed, and I feel the magic of the season just around the corner. Hope’s sitting on the fence like my favourite robin, waiting to make me smile.
Hi Janice,
I agree with Anne, this is just so beautiful. Reading about you and your daughter reminds me of my times with my mother. My mother passed away around Thankgiving some years ago. Even though I think of her often, I tend to remember her more around the Holiday season. Reading your post brought back nice memories of my mother. Thank you for that!
And don’t be hard on yourself…this post was just beautiful. Merry Christmas to you and everyone!
Thanks, Nadia. I feel my mum’s presence every Christmas Eve/early Christmas morning, after Santa’s been, when the house is sleeping and still. It’s as if she sits with me on the sofa while we take in the magic of the room full of gifts, decorations and cosiness by the light of the Christmas tree and the other fairy lights and candle arches. I can almost hear her whisper “Get to bed now, sweetheart; you’ve done well.”
Merry Christmas to you, too. You’re a good soul.
Oh Janice, I’ve read this three times now, and each time the tears come faster! I love this story of your precious daughter’s moment, and all the inspiration you’ve wrapped up in one neat little package.
Thank you for being a part of The Calm Space – your talent as a writer graces our pages with joy and hope and love. And so I wish you joy, hope and love to brighten your Christmas and throughout 2010!
Thank you, Káren. I feel really at home here and I look forward to writing for you and your readers next year.
I grew up with older parents, neighbours and relatives. I have a real soft spot for courteous, elderly gentlemen, but that lady in my piece nearly broke my heart.I can still remember her face.
Janice,
I missed this the first time around. I have big tears falling off my face. It is so beautifully written. I think this is the piece I was meant to read.
My mom is one of the older people in the home clapping today. My granddaughter plays her violin and grandson his trumpet.
I was with you all the way from the lights twinkling, the hands clapping and the lump in your throat. I hope you feel the joy you shared here today. Blessings to you and your family this holiday season. xo
What a beautiful insight into a mother’s heart, and a Christmas ritual many mothers can relate to. And it is very special.
Oh Janice. This piece IS truly a gift. I felt like I was sitting there in that room, feeling the joy as the younger generation gave their gift to the older. There’s something about a song well-sung at Christmas time that pulls at the heart strings. The fact that the song was sung by your own daughter makes it all the more magical. Perhaps because I can’t sing (definite monotone here!) I value all the more when someone can take their voice to uplift and inspire others. (My son-in-law has me in tears every Christmas with his rendition of O Holy Night.) It’s obvious that you have built a good relationship with your daughter–she is happy to see your face in the audience.
You definitely DID write us something special this Christmas…
@Tess,
Thank you. This piece wrote itself and had me in tears at the keyboard. I must have needed to write it, but hadn’t realised that, until I did. I think you and I are at that precious age where we can appreciate the magical power of all the different love threads woven through the generations, but you’re so blessed to have grandchildren who have a great grandma – what a gift! Your mum has every reason to feel very, very proud of the family she and your dad created.
@ Angela,
Thank you so much. I loved this piece, too. Because it came out in one piece, I was able to appreciate all the mother/daughter threads that wove their way through it without me knowing it.
@Randi,
Thank you! My daughter’s voice is definitely a key that unlocks my heart. Every time she sings from her ‘zone’, I get chills and the tears flow. But singing a Christmas song about angels to elderly folk, with a choir of children backing her in the choruses was almost unbearably beautiful.
Janice, what a beautiful story. The Holidays used to be about celebrations and all that joy, but now i take the time to reflect. My best friend just learned her farther may not survive past the Holidays, nnother lost her father a few months ago and can’t find the strength to hang any decorations, a year ago today my uncle passed away, and as i was writing christmas cards, I noticed i hadn’t taken out My grandmothers address. I felt like sending her a card just the same.
I take the time to enjoy all the tears and the fond memories, and then focus on makiing some new special moments with my family. My prayers are with you Janice, may you return to yourself soon.
@Vitania,
I try to do the same as you and balance the memories with living in the present and looking forward to a world full of promise, even though tiredness and sadness affect that balance at this time of the year; the season seems to heighten whatever’s going on. Sometimes I think the problem is the physical address book; it seems so final, drawing a line through someone’s name, and it’s so easy to forget how fat and full of ‘cyber-family & friends’ it would be if everyone we cared for and communicated with online made it into the ‘real life’ address book.
Thank you. I’m feeling a bit better every day, and speaking to folk here and over at ‘my place’ has really helped.
Janice,
This is something exquisite….worth the connection and the replay…
That is what words are all about – connection through each expression – either written or sung….meant to touch and enfold one…
God’s voice.
Missing your writing and praying for good health for you and yours
Janice, thank you for the gift of yourself; sharing your joy and your sadness. Such a precious gift for us all.
Love, good health and hope to you & yours this Season.
Thank you, Janice, for that beautiful insight. I, too, have a mother who “isn’t there” to hear the lovely music of my daughter’s voice, and that makes my joy at hearing her sing all the more poignant sometimes. However, our pleasure can be held on behalf of these grandmothers. Tears of joy are a pleasure too.