The Death of Christmas Adam

Dearest Rachel –

I think it came from a library book about ‘family phrases,’ where a bunch of cute private terms that were used within various family groups were catalogued. In there was an entry giving a name to the day before the day before Christmas, likely coined by an impatient kid trying to weasel into opening a gift that one extra day earlier. The name, of course, comes from the fact that Adam came before Eve, and therefore, the day before Christmas Eve ought to be referred to as ‘Christmas Adam,’ and can’t I open just one package on that day?

To be sure, neither of our families had a tradition of opening anything on Christmas Eve, so the concept was lost on us. But the name stuck with us, as a whimsical denotation of December the 23rd, and even the 30th would sometimes be referred to between us as ‘New Year’s Adam’ in turn. It was a cute little bit of shorthand to refer to a day, rather than just by its month and date, like every other day. Theoretically, it could even be applied to the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, as well as October the 30th (All Hallow’s Adam, perhaps), but these didn’t catch on with us.

The thing is, given the newfound significance of the twenty-third of every month, the sense of whimsy for this day has rather been lost. Now, it feels like just another monthly commemoration of the day you had to leave us – and today being worse than most, in fact, as this is the twenty-third twenty-third since that terrible day. It just brings the number to mind that much more, when I’d just as soon not think about it. Add to that the fact that this is supposed to be the joyous Christmas season – albeit tempered by a vicious cold snap (which turns out to be the true danger of last night’s alleged storm, with temperatures falling well below zero and reducing one’s motivation to leave the house by that much more) – and you can understand why December 23rd doesn’t hold the same charm that it once did, even if we never acquiesced to opening that one present on the day.

In short, it would seem that Christmas Adam is dead to us, every bit as much as you are.

In a way, it shouldn’t get under my skin like this, should it? It’s not as if anyone else to speak of was giving today a cutesy name like that. Sure, someone else came up with it, and we adopted it, but among those we knew, it didn’t hold enough special significance to be worth naming (although when we explained the origin to people who would ask, they tended to agree it made sense). It was just something else we had between us that we don’t anymore, and that’s what I think truly bothers me about it. I can’t call today that anymore, because that was our term for it; and now that ‘we’ aren’t ‘us’ anymore, those sorts of things leave something of a bitter taste in my mouth.

Combine that with the commemoration, and the day is that much less worth thinking about – not that I can avoid it, given that it has this mutually agreed-upon moniker.

***

I feel like I ought to try and switch over to a hopeful tone, a reminder that, as we prepare to celebrate Christmas in the dead (pardon the expression) of winter, the whole point of His coming centers on a day some three or four months to come. Winter will give way to spring, and while He came to die for us, what’s most important is that He rose again. As winter falls to spring, so too does His resurrection remind us that we will one day, as well. The mourning of loss will one day be turned to dancing.

The only difficulty I have with that is the fact that you didn’t manage to see the spring. Your day came on the coldest day of the year – not unlike today, in fact – and I didn’t have to check the temperature to verify it. Losing you could have made a summer day cold; this just made it that much worse.

And yet, I have to remind myself that the earth is little more than a pale shadow of what will be. It’s the only reality I know, but you’re getting to experience a reality far beyond that, and far better. So, while I have my own issues at the moment toward expressing hope and triumph, I’ll leave it to you to remind me that, even if I can never think of the idea of ‘Christmas Adam’ without a pang of loss, today (and every Christmas Adam hence) has to serve as a remembrance that this is not the end, but rather the beginning.

It’s a challenge, though, to change my thinking accordingly. So I’ll have to ask you to keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.