Alberta

Chapter Three: Little bird

Christmas was once my favourite time of the year. My family would throw themselves into all church events and the house would transport to a delightful grotto.

Alberta would always stay on the Eve of Christmas Eve. We would share our presents with each other and watch Christmas movies in bed with hot chocolate. She would hold my hand through 'it's a wonderful life' and tell me how I was her George and that she was my Mary. I could let myself in those moments, wonder, how it would be if Allie actually felt how I felt about her. I could pretend when she clutched my hand to her chest, that she was mine, and my oh my...what a wonderful life that would be.

Christmas once I left Utah became a sad time, it was a glaring, bright lit, cheery faced reminder that I wasn't home in the bosom of my family. You know what I now hate that I hadn't had much thought about before? Those family Christmas cards, you know the ones, they have a recent family portrait of the family who sent it, usually looking all perfect and happy. Aunt Mary received those type of cards and put them on her fridge. That first Christmas in Oregon we had one of those Christmas cards from Ben, his first family Christmas card, and he was so proud in the picture. Of course he was proud, because stood in his arms, wrapped in his embrace, was Allie. Her long Auburn hair was down to her waist and looked more stunning than usual with the green of the Christmas trees behind her. They were wearing matching clothes. Allie had a red skirt and a warm jacket with green tones and Ben had a red jacket, green flannel shirt and denim jeans. Ben and Allie were the newlyweds in love, and everyone we knew would have this picture up in their house. She looked happy, so did he... and once again I die inside and feel myself recoil.

The card beside that one was the final nail in my emotional coffin. It was my mom's Christmas card, a most recent family snapshot, her and my dad with my five siblings, their significant others and children.

I was the baby of my family, there was a fifteen year age gap between me and my eldest sibling, Charlotte. My siblings were all married now and all but Ben had children, at least four per sibling, and so the Christmas card, it was a large shot of them all in some cornfield somewhere. I scanned the family, spotting Allie in front of Ben on the end, holding his hand. My stomach flipped, the most glaring thing though was that I wasn't in this picture. I had already left, and so this picture was the beginning of my absence from the family and from the church. Everyone who got my mom's Christmas card in our church would note my absence, and soon if not already would hear why I left, why I had forsaken the church and Jesus Christ.

The inevitable shame and guilt my mom felt for failing the family and her church would be overwhelming, but the guilt I felt for that from a lifetime of living and breathing our church was the same, if not more.

My mother's constant worry was that I would no longer be in their eternal family when we reached heaven because that's what she believed. All those baptized, living the church life and keeping the scared covenants in the temple would be an eternal family, and so of course I would now be missing. I think she grieved me in that way. I no longer believed in the type of heaven my mom did. I had to believe that whatever was next was more inclusive. I had to believe Alberta would be in my version of heaven, because what was heaven if not where you go to be reunited with what you have most loved, most adored and cherished in your life. To go an eternity without Alberta's smile, her laugh, her company... it sounded like hell and I was already there so what should I care to die for?! To experience it all again?! No thank you.

***

Christmas it seems comes whether you want it to or not, and as I pass the snow covered mountains and enter the town I had once called home, I find it is here like untouched snow in the morning, inviting and waiting to be enjoyed once more.

Five years have dissolved the home sickness I would once feel for this town. Like I had fled from an abusive marriage, I arrived of the town five years ago disheveled and hungry, aching and fearful, desperately clinging to anyone and anything that felt slightly safe. Nobody could explain to you how lonely it is to leave a life behind, to be seen as the villain who has destroyed the family.