Grace’s Christmas Concert

Written for Inspire Me Sunday, December 2018.

by Darcie T. Kelly

They screech through the song, delighting none but themselves and, of course, their parents, identifiable by the phones raised above their faces recording the scene. A cast of falcons attacking our ears until we wish they’d finally tear drum from nerve.

I sit on a cold plastic chair in the elementary school gymnasium turned auditorium. By my side, my husband, folded into a chair much too small for his six-foot three frame, surprisingly seems to be enjoying the show. He’s been working too hard lately, taking extra hours whenever they’re offered. Luckily, there’s been a rush order. Someone booked the whole crew overtime to finish their cottage by Christmas. I miss him terribly. Our plan included him taking a few weeks off when the baby was born, but, the fire destroyed so many laid plans.

Aubrey, a mere ten weeks old, snoozes in my arms. I’m shocked the kindergarten-choir singing The Chipmunk Song (even more grating than David Saville’s wretched squeaky puppets) hasn’t waken him. I gently kiss his down crown before returning my attention to the stage.

When the “song” ends the audience applauds, most politely, others, after an awkward moment juggling their camera-phones, enthusiastically. I lean against Tony’s strong shoulder to read the program in his hands and count the remaining acts until Grace, our first born, takes the stage. This show is only the primary division, so Grace’s grade-three class is just before the finale. Five more. I can bear that.

I used to enjoy the kinder choirs. Used to volunteer with them. Used to … Well, there used to be a lot of things three months ago that aren’t so anymore.

A second group of kinders replaces the first, a broken line crossing on stage, hunting through the audience for their families, waving and jumping when found. An older student acting as sheepdog gently guides strays back to the flock and their teacher, Mr. Moore addresses the audience. “If you haven’t had a chance to donate yet, some of the grade-eight students will be passing a collection bowl. Thank you for your generosity.” I squirm, uncomfortably in my seat. Usually, we’d be especially generous for school fundraisers, but this year is different. This year …

“It appears Ms Mahew and I got our lines crossed,” Mr. Moore, continues, “so I hope you enjoy this second rendition of The Chipmunk Song as much as the first.”

I try to contain a sigh, but Tony looks over with concern. “You ok, hun,” shifting his gaze to our sleeping babe, “Everything good with Brae? Want me to take him for a bit?”

Even though he sleeps soundly, I take the opportunity. “I think he needs a change, actually. I’ll just take him out for a second. We’ll be right back.”

I stand as the first notes (if you can call them that) echo through the gym and excuse myself down the row. Cell-phone-raised-parents behind expressing their displeasure with cries akin to those produced by their offspring on stage. Aubrey stirs, but doesn’t wake.

I exit the room as a voice calls out, “You know the words. Join us this round!” and let the door close behind me, muffling the now much louder, though no more melodic, singing.

I sigh, lean against a sticky wall without concern, slide my back down until I’m sitting on the ground. I rearrange Aubrey so he is resting on my lap and gaze into his sleeping face.

Ten weeks old. His three-month birthday falls on Christmas Day. Gazing at him like this is meditative. Calming. Soothing. I wish we’d enjoyed more moments like this these past ten weeks. Sleepless nights are expected with a newborn, but two months of such nights in motel room shared by a family of four makes each much harder.

“I chatted with Santa today,” I confide in a whisper. “I asked him to help us rebuild. To give you a nursery for Christmas.” Aubrey shifts in his sleep, squashes his face, purses his lips, lets some gas pass and resettles, more peaceful than before. He is content anywhere that loving arms are available. The Christmas wish is more for me than him.

A new song begins on the other side of the doors, Away In A Manger, and I count, four more. My eyes close and I let my mind drift, thinking of that other baby who slept in hay. At least we have beds and a roof, even if they aren’t our own. Behind my closed eyes, the nativity scene gets fuzzy, blurred by fog or mist or smoke. A tongue of flames, a candle perhaps, at the edge of the scene catches my eye. It leaps forward, toward the manger, growing, spreading, reaching for the sleeping child. My eyes snap open as unwelcome memories jar me from my reverie. I clasp tight to Aubrey. Will it ever be safe to let my mind drift again?

The song in the gym has changed. I must have fallen asleep after all. A few stolen minutes. Precious moments of sleep, so rare recently. I gather Aubrey and we return to the gym, excusing ourselves down the row once more. Savouring the reunion, Tony kisses my cheek and strokes Aubrey’s belly. I lean against him again and check the program. Grace’s class is next.

I sit up a little taller, looking for the light of my life as her class files in. If I still had a cell phone I’d raise it to record. Instead, this year I’ll watch the live version and record it directly to memory.

“There’s your sister,” I whisper to Aubrey. Grace’s dress is a hand-me-down from someone at the school, bleached to erase stains and give it a bright white glow. I had folded an old wire coat hanger into a halo and applied spray paint and glitter glue (borrowed from the YMCA’s craft centre) to fairy wings left in a nearby dumpster after Halloween and poof! Grace is an angel. I breathe a sigh of relief to see her standing beside shepherd classmates with bath towels over their heads. Grace’s homeless Christmas won’t be evident in her classmates’ home videos.

Ms Janes, Grace’s teacher, prompts three students with crinkled papers in their hands to step forward. They read the Christmas story with the same melodic lilt as Linus in A Charlie Brown Christmas. Members of the nativity cast step forward in turn. Cameras flash. Someone in the audience coughs. I wave as Grace flaps her arms and steps forward to tell the shepherds the good news. Story ended, the class sings a heartfelt (is it just that my Gracey is on stage that makes me perceive it that way?) rendition of I’ll Be Home For Christmas. I can’t hold back the tears. Our home. Our lost home. Tony squeezes my shoulders, a supportive sideways hug, and the tears gush, unrestrained.

The final note still hanging in the air, I wipe my eyes and cheer whole heartedly for my strong, little angel. Aubrey awakes and adds a coo of support for his sister. I blow Grace a kiss before digging into the second-hand diaper bag for a receiving blanket intending to feed my son under it’s cover. Tony stills my hand, “He can wait a minute,” and draws my focus back to the stage.

“Before we invite all our students back to stage for the finale, I’d like to recognize a very special girl.” Ms Janes turns to the departing grade-threes, to Grace, and beckons her forward. I cringe. Don’t do it, don’t make a spectacle of her, I silently plea. “Gracey, our angel, has brought some very special gifts to our school this year. Compassion, understanding, generosity and love. Through her strength in the face of struggle, she has shown each of us how to prioritize what is important –family, friends and the love we share.” I beam with pride as my daughter is praised.

Ms Janes continues, “Most of you are in on our little surprise.” Everyone shifts in their seats pointing cold camera phones and warm eyes in my direction. “Will Gracey’s family please join us on the stage?”

I turn to Tony in defiant confusion. I am NOT going up there. “Come on. It’ll be alright,” he encourages. Aubrey starts to whimper and when I hesitate, Hubby lifts the little imp from my arms and gently guides me from my seat to centre stage. Inwardly, I withdraw from the attention. Today is my daughter’s day to shine. She needs days like this, especially now. Since Aubrey’s birth and the fire, we haven’t had much time or energy to focus on Grace. I want her to know she is special. Important. Loved. I pull her to me. In part to hide behind her small frame, and in part to complete the family circle. We are stronger together.

“In September, Mr. and Mrs. Rauch welcomed Gracey’s brother to their family. The day he came home, a horrible fire claimed their home, and nearly their lives.” Tony gently squeezes my shoulder as flames lick the corner of my vision. I stare at the ground, old hardwood painted with layers of scuffed black, and fumble with my hands. Squeeze Grace’s shoulders, smooth her hair, straighten her halo. What do I usually do with my hands?

Ms Janes directs her attention to us. “All our school fundraisers this year, the bake sales, Christmas wrap sales, the talent show,” some giggles from the audience hint at an inside joke, “and tonight’s donations have been designated toward the ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas Fund’ to help your family rebuild.”

I look up in disbelief, one hand hugs Grace nearer, the other flutters to my lips, tears again prickle behind my eyes. After months of crying, I should be out of tears by now. With a twinkle in her eye, Ms Janes winks at Tony.

“Mrs. Rauch, I hope I’m not about to get your husband in trouble.” My eyes dart between the two of them, question and accusation in equal parts. “He hasn’t been working nights these past few weeks.” My heart sinks. Blood runs cold. He’s never lied to me before.

Tony laughs lightly, igniting a slow burn of anger. “You’ve definitely gotten me in trouble, Ms Janes.” I turn to face him, pulling away but still clinging to his strength. “Honey, I haven’t been working on a cottage. I’ve been working on our house.”

“But –“ the words slip from my lips unsupported. Thoughts are coming faster than words can be formed. But insurance denied our claim. Our savings have been depleted on motel and restaurant bills. The material needed is so expensive. And the labour …

“The school isn’t the only group supporting us. All the places you’ve volunteered over the years; the church, the YMCA, there are groups reaching out that I didn’t even know you were involved in! Well, they have all run fundraisers to support us.” As he talks, familiar faces emerge from the wings. John from the ice rink, Carol from Community Blooms, Phillip from Spring Fling … A flood of smiling faces with loving eyes. My tribe. My unrelated family.

“The first gift arrived a couple weeks after the fire and they just kept coming. For the last six weeks, those double shifts, I was the client. The whole crew has been working on our house. Donating their time and skills. The gifts have covered our motel bill and paid for materials …” With each hug and kiss on my cheek the pile of gift baskets and wrapped packages at my feet grows. “And, well, we are on schedule to be back in our house by Christmas eve!”

Completely overwhelmed with gratitude and surprise, I gape, jaw on chest, tears making a complete mess of my face. Tony, having passed Aubrey to Grace who beams with joy and pride, wipes my cheeks with his thumbs before pulling me into a bear hug. Grace giggles as Aubrey pulls one of her fingers into his little mouth and tries to nurse.

Unnoticed by me, the primary classes have assembled in front of the stage and break into song. A joyful Deck The Halls turns rolls into a rollicking I’ll Be Home For Christmas and finishes with a flare of We Wish You a Merry Christmas while the adults on stage link arms and sway, carrying me on waves of emotion which have never been named.

When the final carol ends Grace’s voice rings out, strong and clear, “God bless us …” the entire gymnasium responds “… every one!”