I have written previously about my annual holiday visits from the Ghost of Christmas past, sad feelings from childhood Christmases with my mentally ill mother. But this year, like Scrooge in "A Christmas Carol", I have three visitors. The Ghost of Christmas Past is still my mother, though those thoughts come later every year. The Ghost of Christmas Present is the granddaughter I had for two years and lost when her mother and my son broke up. I have not seen her since April, except in my memories. The Ghost of Christmas Future is the baby the two of them announced last Christmas, but lost in January. We never got to meet on earth, but I look forward to meeting him/her in the future. I gave a donation to Hope Pregnancy Center in my grandchild's honor. Where the form asked for a name, I wrote "Peanut", which was all I ever called him. On the line for address, I put "Heaven".
I used to long for unclouded memories of Christmas, but if I must be visited by those I cannot reach, at least my ghosts are not unwelcome. As with Scrooge, through them my life was changed. Deepened, broadened, opened. Christmas is better when shared with loved ones, even those no longer with us--or with us only in spirit.
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