Tell the
Wolves I’m Home
When Lina asked
me to pick a day for my Advent blog post, I just knew it had to be 4th
of December. It was my grandpa’s birthday and he simply adored Christmas so I
figured it would be a good way to show just how special this holiday is to me. I
did consider the possibility of having bitten slightly more than I could chew,
as my grandpa was the first person I genuinely lost in an irremediable way…Not
a person I knew that died, but a person that I lost, a person that used to be
mine… But I thought the Christmas spirit would prevail, the warmth and
happiness this holiday brings, the genuine joy of opening and giving presents
and all the good memories with my family, would chase away any unwanted
thoughts, the monsters and dark creatures would be stashed in a dark locked
closet and I would simply be safe and ok.
Everything
was going according to plan, I had sketched the post in my head, had thought to
include a link to one of Stefan’s Hrusca carols (a Romanian artist whose songs
have become as necessary to Christmas as having a tree or being home) and was
already thinking of my top 3 X-mas movies (featuring Love Actually[1], Miracle on 34th Street [2]
and Look Who’s Talking Now[3]).
But then I just had to read and sink in “Tell the Wolves I’m Home” by Carol
Rifka Brunt. And all of a sudden, instead of being home in a warm and cozy
environment, I was all by myself in a dark wood hearing the wolves howling,
heart torn in pieces and having to face my fears and think back about the loss
of my grandfather. The book is centered around June, a 14 year old girl who has
recently lost her uncle and best friend Finn. Their relationship is so special
and beautiful that even if you hadn’t experienced a close personal loss like
she has, it is still incredibly easy to feel every single emotion the young
girl is going through. Useless to say it broke my heart in every possible way
and even though my relationship with my grandpa was never as extraordinary as
June’s with Finn, we were still close in a way that he wasn’t with my cousin
and I wasn’t with my other grandparents. They say you can’t choose your family
but I would have chosen him as my grandpa nonetheless.
Still, even
after finishing the book I could have dragged myself to write a happy post
about everything nice I love about Christmas, about the special foods we
Romanians prepare or about how every year on the 24th December I
decorate the tree with my mum and dad. But then I suddenly looked on the window
and saw it was snowing. Not the fluffy cheerful snowman material type, but the
one mixed with wind, and rain, and cold coming from heavy grey clouds. The type
of snow that makes you happy you are inside.
And then it
occurred to me that that’s exactly what I love the most about Christmas: the
confrontations it brings: to still believe in the special spirit, while you
know Santa is not real; to long so much to be with the family and close friends
knowing though it will only make the absent members missed even more; to
prepare and eat much too much food than necessary, to listen on repeat to the
same carols until you can’t stand them anymore, to stress and run around for
buying the perfect gifts for everybody. And at the same time having the comfort
and knowing it all it will be ok, that you will end up enjoying everything
despite the troubles and it would simply not be Christmas, real Christmas, without
any of these things.
It’s safe
to go in the woods on Christmas. It’s safe to face your fears and admit you’re
not as strong as you thought and you do need the support of the loved ones. The
wolves can howl as much as they want, because on that day you can simply tell
them you’re at home and nothing they do frightens you.
I think I finally understood why I love so
much to go to Church on Christmas Eve though I am not that religious and I
don’t even bother to go to an orthodox church.
It’s just that once you’re out there in the cold and you come back in
the house, it’s the best feeling in the whole wide world. At least for me…
P.S. Though
it’s not his best, this carol by Hrusca tells exactly the story of some
children and their mum, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace and the stories of
baby Jesus, while outside it’s cold and snowing.
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