Holidays allow mix of emotions

Holidays can be "the best of times and the worst of times." In 1959, the outdoor advertising billboards of the Mahoning Valley carried a Norman Rockwell scene of a three-generation family about to eat Thanksgiving dinner. Grandparents, father and children sit around a well-appointed table all bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked as the mother sets a huge, perfectly browned turkey on the table. I remember the year because it was the one before I left for the embassy school in Germany.
For some strange reason, I obtained a set of panels from the advertising agency and, with the principal's permission, laboriously hung the scene along the entrance hall of the elementary school where I taught. I certainly didn't do it for nostalgic reasons because both my parents had emigrated, and I never knew my grandparents.
My mother died when I was 3, and my siblings already had gone off to start their own families. Maybe I hung the picture because it, like so many of Rockwell's paintings, represent some sort of American ideal or some good aspect of our culture that we want to cherish.
Hardships
As the holiday season begins, there are so many families who will experience empty chairs at the table. Natural disasters, terrorism, combat and all types of violent acts have taken members from their loved ones. Some do not even have homes in which to gather.
But, perhaps, even worse, is when the violence is homemade. Alcohol, drugs, abuse and all the terrible things that happen between people have turned the concept of home from one of safe haven to one of terror for many families.
I received a letter recently from a man in his 70s. He was mourning the loss of a happy childhood and gave me permission to quote the following:
"Happy moments were few and far between. There was always controversy in the relationship between my parents and my siblings. How I would have loved to have had the opportunity to grow up in a loving family where we all cared for one another."
Writer's burden
His letter reminded me of Frederick Buechner, whose writings I have recently discovered but whose books on Gospel teachings are well known among clergy. At the age of 65, his writing turned autobiographical and he says he joined the "open vein writers who write in their own blood about the darkness of life as they found it and about how, for better or worse, they managed somehow to survive it, even embrace it."
At the age of 10, little Freddie watched from a window as his father's body, covered with a white sheet, was carried to the ambulance from the garage where carbon monoxide had snuffed out the breath of life. There was no funeral to attend. Suitcases were packed and his maternal grandmother arranged for Freddie, his older brother and his mother to leave New Jersey immediately for Bermuda where they were to start a new life.
When Freddie began asking questions in order to understand what was happening, his mother sternly forbade him to ever mention his father or what had happened to anyone ever again.
The young boy carried this secret burden through adulthood, through his ordination at Union Theological Seminary, and through his lectures at Harvard. It wasn't until one of his three daughters became anorexic that the burden became too much to bear.
When neither his love nor his eloquent words could change her behavior, he felt as much of a failure as a father as his alcoholic father was for him. Fortunately, after hovering at the brink of death, the daughter improved. And Buechner, through counseling, attendance at Adult Children of Alcoholics meetings and his autobiographical writing, began to release the burden of pain that he carried for so long.
Making peace
In his book, "Telling Secrets," he says, "The sad things that happened long ago will always remain a part of who we are just as the glad and gracious things will, too, but instead of being a burden of guilt, recrimination, and regret that makes us constantly stumble as we go, even the saddest things can become, once we have made peace with them, a source of wisdom and strength for the journey that still lies ahead."
XIf you have a story to share on how you may have coped with difficult times during the holidays, the columnist would like to hear from you. Information will be used in a column at a later date. Please include your name and phone number for verification purposes. Respond by e-mail to religion@vindy.com, fax at (330) 747-1612 or mail to Religion, The Vindicator, P.O. Box 780, Youngstown 44501. Dr. Agnes Martinko is a member of St. Edward's Church, Youngstown.