By Rita O’Mara

In the beginning it’s just plain scary. How will I provide for my family when both financially and emotionally there is so little to go around? What happens if my child becomes ill … or I become ill? Who will help us? How can I help my child to adjust when I’m not able to help myself adjust? What happens if I lose my job … if the support payments stop? These are the anxieties and worries that cause the tears, the nightmares and, too often, the quick temper.

The family tries to tell you everything will be fine. But you know they are frightened and worried, too and feel powerless to help. Distance and their own obligations limit them, but the love and moral support are abundant. Besides, you can never really go home again and the only true victory will come from your own solutions to the problems.

At this time it is natural to withdraw from the questioning of friends and acquaintances. Too often, the people you thought you could count on in time of trouble become unavailable and politely brush you off with a “let’s get together sometime.” No one understands. How could a priest or a happily married person know this kind of pain?

There is the pain of losing your dreams and your future. Suddenly you are cut off in midstream from where you thought you were going. Life goals are abandoned and a whole new adolescence faces you. At a time when life is usually tranquil you are faced with the upheaval of not knowing what you want to do with your life. Your job takes on a whole new meaning. (Is this the right career for me? Do I want to spend the 20 or 30 years doing this kind of work?)

Learning how to be alone is painful. How can a child understand when something goes wrong during your day? How can he know that sometimes you need someone to hold and comfort you? You are a teenager again, unsure of your attractiveness, your ability to establish good relationships. (Was this all my fault? Is there some flaw in me? Other people can make it work why couldn’t I?)

It hurts too much and is too private to share with anyone. Then you meet someone who shares a little of their story with you. They survived! Hope springs with you … (Hey, I’m not a freak after all. At least one other person has been through this). Another person opens up to you with their story. There are lots of people out there who have been through this ordeal. You start WANTING to be around people. It feels good.

In search of help for yourself and your family, you take an adult education course. Bonds of friendship and understanding cement you to your church family. The icy loneliness is starting to thaw. A family in the parish invites you and the family to dinner. (Gee, they want our company. Maybe we have something to offer them.) You go to a covered dish dinner in the cafeteria and strike up a conversation with one of the priests. (Look, he enjoys talking to me. I guess I’m still witty when I really try.) Your child comes home with the best report card ever. (Maybe this was a good choice for all of us instead of staying together “for the children.”)

Christmas approaches with all its activities. Is it going to be sad again? You brush aside the question and do the every day things to prepare for the big day. Cooking, shopping, cleaning, extra visits to church and school, visiting friends and delivering gifts fill the days and evenings. Christmas arrives right on schedule, and the day is filled with noise and excitement. Midnight Mass, aromas of delicious foods, staying up late and new traditions join to form a truly blessed holiday. When finally the day is over and the household settles to quiet, you go to tuck in your most prized possession. The words come softly, with a hug and a smile, “Mommy, this is the best Christmas we ever had.”