The Christmas Pin Society
by
Copyright © 2006
Chapter Six
Good afternoon, Hannah, its Emma," I perked. "Hi, Emma, you just caught me. I was almost out of the door." She was on her way to town for some last minute holiday preparations. Elizabeth and her husband, Andrew, were coming on the fourteenth to spend Christmas with Hannah.
I was brief in explaining the situation, so as not to keep her any longer than necessary from her appointed agenda. Her listening was unusually passive. Coming to the question of her desired presence and much needed help, a stillness was the only audible response. "Are you there?" I asked after a long five seconds. "Yes, I'm here," she responded. "I was just thinking." There was another pause. "It's a wonderful idea, Emma," she said, "very thoughtful and giving..." She paused again. "I'm truly glad everyone else is participating," she continued, "but..." "But...," I repeated. "Well, I just don't think it's something I can be involved with right now. It's just, well, with Elizabeth and Andy coming home for Christmas I'm going to be busy," she replied hesitantly. "Oh, well I understand, Hannah; but what about the pins? Do you think you'd be willing to donate them?" I asked. "About the pins," she quietly replied. Here it was. She was about to reveal the crux of it all. "Emma, I know this is going to sound silly to you, but the pins," she hesitated for a moment. "The truth is I take them out every now and again to look at them; when I feel alone. They comfort me. I can't explain it. I don't think I want to part with them. You must think I'm intensely selfish." 'Intensely' was a strong word. 'Selfish'? Yes. Maybe. But 'intensely selfish'? Well, I didn't want to think about the varying degrees of selfishness ~ if there was such a thing. I verbally responded to her as most would. "No, Hannah, no I don't think you’re selfish." A hundred thoughts were going through my mind at once. I wanted to think she was being selfish; but I knew her better. Hannah was not a selfish person. I just didn't expect her to say 'no'; and when she did, I'm sorry to say, my selfishness in wanting this venture to be a success, led me to jump into a judgmental frame of mind. "I don't expect you to understand, Emma," she said. "My own daughter says I think too much about the past; it's just..." "It's alright, Hannah," I interrupted. "You don't have to explain; not to me or to anyone. They're your pins; yours to do with as you please. I understand."
Actually, I did understand. I knew first-hand what it was like to hold on to something because it reminded me of long-ago, missed moments in my life. Before Isabel was born, when Ben was just a baby, I began to read books with him. We would settle together on the sofa, and I would read a story to him; or we would look at picture books. Ben would have me read a book, two or three times; then take it back to the shelf, put it away, and bring me another. These were special times together. As the years went by, our book collection expanded; train books, story books, animal books, holiday books ~ brought out to read during the specific holiday it represented ~ and many more.
When Ben was three and Isabel came along, he and I managed to sustain our ritual. As Isabel grew, she was a willing addition to our story time. They liked the different voices and accents I used for each character, making the story more interesting and realistic. When Ben started school, Isabel and I continued the tradition in the mornings; but at night, before bed, the three of us would cuddle together and read a story or two.
Then one day, it seemed without warning, they had grown out of their childhood books; and I was left with the memories and longings for sharing them still. Frank kept pressing me to pack them away, but I could not seem to relinquish those reminders of simpler times. Once in a while, when alone, the books would catch my attention; and picking one up, I would glance through it, or sometimes read it aloud, as if little ears were listening. In the quiet corners of the house I could almost hear the laughter of sweet voices, and I would sigh, wishing in my heart to read these delightful treasures with my children one more time.
Once, during such an occasion, I realized something about holding on. The memories I had were precious, and a gift to keep in my heart forever, but my children were no longer small. They were growing into beautiful young adults. Although their growing was a wonderful and welcomed thing, keeping the books out where they could distract my attention held me too closely to the past; preventing me from enjoying my children's present development with the fullness they and I deserved. With that illumination, I set about packing them away. The hope of future grandchildren to share them with made the task easier.
Yes, I understood Hannah and her unwillingness to part with her Christmas pins. They reminded her of better times; when her life was more complete, her family together, her hope still alive that things could get better. Holding on to the pins enabled her to hold on to her dreams, and she wasn't ready to let go of that. I realized, too, I could not expect her to share my vision. How could she imagine helping another family's dream to become a reality, when she felt unable to make her own dream come true? But then ~ just maybe ~ there lay the secret.
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