December 7, the 70th anniversary of that cruel and barbaric attack.
Winston Churchill’s speech to the US Congress on December 26, 1941, is as inspiring today as it was then. He was a true visionary, and a master orator. That day he said, “sure I am that this day now we are the masters of our fate, that the task which has been set us is not above our strength, that its pangs and toils are not beyond our endurance. As long as we have faith in our cause, and an unconquerable willpower, salvation will not be denied us.
… After the outrages they have committed upon us at Pearl Harbor, in the Pacific islands, in the Philippines, at Malaya in the Dutch Indies, they must know that the stakes that they have decided to play are mortal. When we look at the resources of the United States and Great Britain and compare them with those of Japan, it becomes still more difficult to reconcile Japanese actions with prudence or even with sanity. What kind of a people do they think we are? Is it possible they do not realize that we shall never cease to persevere against them, until they have been taught a lesson which they and the world will never forget?”
Ah, and so it happened. The ultimate outcome had to be apparent, even then. As long as we have faith in our cause, perseverance and willpower, salvation will not be denied us. Let him who has ears, hear!
It is also another anniversary of sorts. Today’s number is 329. Some day I will stop counting the months. I went to counseling last night, and didn’t even think of that. Mainly we talked about how to get through the holidays. It’s tough, but not that tough. The kids and I are going to make it. Why? Because we are made of sterner stuff. It’s hard, and it hurts, and I cry pretty much every day, when I think about her. But I’m a better man for it.
I don’t think I’m going to do too much more of that counseling stuff. I’m just not getting that much out of it. Maybe I’m just in a different situation from most of the rest of the group. My kids are mostly grown, and most of the other folks’ kids are younger. Sometimes I think a big part of it for many of them is just getting the kids into a group, and passing the time in the meanwhile.
It is kind of like kindergarten, but maybe that’s OK in a way. At one point Becky asked us to draw a picture of something that reminded us of our loved one. I drew this picture of our house from the outside:
I used to string all the lights, and the weather was always horrible, and I was often crabby, coming home late from work, in the dark and cold. But the kids would help, and that would be cool. I remember one time, when she was little, and kept begging me to put up the lights, I was procrastinating, saying stuff like, “back in my day, we didn’t start putting stuff up the day after Thanksgiving.” And Monica asked me, “Dad, why do you hate Christmas?” And we both laughed.
If you look closely at the picture, there in the window, you will find Anita playing games on the computer, because that’s what I remember. Me standing out in the cold and her sitting on her butt, singing along with Amy Grant’s “Breath of Heaven” at volume 10, playing Text Twist or whatever.
I didn’t really mind though, because no one kept Christmas like my little wife did. We had — have — probably 500 cubic feet of Christmas decorations. I am not kidding. And every year, we’d pull down the 19 tubs of lights and ornaments and crap like that, and it would be a big production, and the house was filled with Christmas carols and the smell of baking and I’d be outside with the kids and the dogs, stringing the lights and setting up the stage prop reindeer, and there would be a few moments in there where everything would be pretty much perfect.
But not this year.
And I’m just growing weary of all the long faces, and self pity. Mine as much as anyone’s. The endless chronicles of the grieving process. I could write a book at this point. Oh, maybe I already have. But who cares? Not even I do any more.
Let’s just move on.