30 Christmases

When did you find your people or person? I have several. I hope you do too. I have best friends from growing up that are literally in my veins. They would do anything for me. I acquired sister-in-laws over the years that mean everything to me. College sisterhood, roomies, running mates, fellow mamas, neighbors old and new—enough said. We don’t even need to ask, permission to vent or lend a hand is granted. Auto pilot mode with these women stitched to my heart. I cannot believe all these women in my life have become family. 

And then there is one more. The universe sort of tried to keep us apart. We are actual blood relatives. Our dads are brothers. No one meant to shield us or keep us distant, I do not think there was malice but here’s the beauty of love, serendipity, hurdles and a good story. My Melissa Belle and I could not be stopped. We are honest with one another, we are faithful, we are tender yet unabashed. Growing up in our shared hometown we were cousins, just cousins on a holiday or random weekday. We didn’t attend one another’s birthday parties much, we oddly didn’t hang out much. But that’s not this story. 

My cousins Sam and Melissa lost their father when they were eighteen and fifteen years old. Complications of type 1 diabetes. My Uncle John was quiet in my observance, very kind and loving. I remember him putting on chapstick a lot. I never saw him angry. Only kind. Much like his father my grandpa Paul Taylor. Both very sweet, loving, jovial at times and always there with a hug and smile for us kids. In 7th grade I was riding the bus to a track meet and heard the news my Uncle John had passed. I told myself I will run for him, I will run the lights out in his honor. In that moment I had no idea how much running and my relationship with his beloved daughter Melissa would change the trajectory of my entire life. 

So here is our story and in this version my sweet Melissa Belle is the leading lady. I never told her how proud it felt (and feels) to be her cousin, especially my freshman year of high school. She was this singing senior, hurdling star, basketball queen and to put it mildly very bright, already so accomplished. Honors everywhere, even the french horn. Who is that good at everything? You shall soon learn, it is just the Melissa way. She cannot help it—turns out she would grow into a fabulous baker, cook, school board president, community leader and hostess of all the things. Including opening her home to many a foreign exchange student over the years. She directs her church choir, teaches piano students in her living room and leads a local historical society in her spare time. Are you tired yet? She also went to college on a golf scholarship and still has a wicked game up her sleeve. I cannot make this stuff up. Yes this is all really just one individual. Oh and she dabbled a bit in city planning including a prestigious masters degree from Indiana University. 

Of all her accolades including being the mom of three very amazing kids—what puts her on quite the pedestal in my heart is her grit. Nothing will stop this woman, not even when the young girl in her was forced to grow up really fast. The second tragedy we faced would be just three years after my Uncle John died, we then lost our Sam in a car accident. She loses a parent at fifteen and her only sibling just two months before her eighteenth birthday. Sam died early August, Melissa was packing up to start her freshman year at Bradley University. What would you do?

I would fold. My heart would form a wedge and literally break in pieces. I know unequivocally I would not do what my warrior Melissa did. She conquered. She sought counseling, she decorated her dorm room, she made instant friends. She shared her story, she did not shut down. She knew her dad and brother were holding her up, willing her to get to class on time—every morning. She is the definition of tenacious. And in all this awful cluster I became a soft place to land. 

I really don’t know how it started. I don’t like to think losing Sam is the only reason we connected on such a visceral level. But I do believe he was the catalyst, and that he was going to bring us closer moving heaven or earth. Sam was a force, it makes sense he was only having it one way—he was bringing two Taylor girls to the same table. I was young, I didn’t know how to grieve—turns out no one does and there is never ever a wrong or right way. Whether it’s your 96 year old grandmother and you are 40; or it’s your 21 year old big brother and you aren’t even a legal adult. And I had no idea how to support a loved one grieving. I blubbered away not sure how to act around my aunt, not knowing what to say around Melissa. Should I say anything? Should I tell stories? Try and make them laugh or just help them be ok to cry? Somehow in our grief we muddle along, we never get over the loss and often there is never the right thing to say. But we do manage to swim through the waves. Sometimes softly and other moments that sneaky grief comes crashing right over your head. 

This is the 30th Christmas without Sam. It seems impossible, the hole in our hearts remains. This past summer Melissa and I toasted over a beautiful sunset in Door County, Wisconsin. I started tagging along with Mel and the family as a teenager. It became a place to heal, a symbol of hope and where together we discovered it was ok to laugh again. Even laugh loudly just like Sam. 

The past 30 years included lots of tears over a very deep loss. But I want Sam to know he would be so proud of that little sister. The sister he gave his coat to while they waited on the front porch in the chilly after school air. The sister who journeys with me in love, loss, parenthood, aging (gracefully of course), and the unbreakable bonds of being my sister-in-heart.  

I lost a college friend in May. Her kids, husband and family are going through all the firsts without her. Holidays, birthdays, traditions kept and new ones forged. I don’t want to say it gets better over time, you will heal up—you will feel whole again. You won’t. And I hate silver-linings and those ‘it happens for a reason magnets’ so I’m not feeding you that rhetoric. But I am telling you a story about a girl who stood up, swung hard and won. She didn’t give up on herself. She is vulnerable and bright, confident and loving. May my Melissa inspire anyone this holiday season who needs to hear, wants to know—if you believe I promise the light is waiting. And her light sounds like angels singing perfect pitch high up in the sky.