"Christmas is harder than it used to be," she tells the dog.
I couldn't agree more, but keep my opinion to myself. I remind Megan not to open the door if she doesn't know who is standing on the other side of it. I don't like the idea of strangers skulking around the house when I'm not home, although I am begrudgingly grateful that I don't have to make an extra stop to get Christmas wrapping paper now for Megan's teacher's gift.
"They're not strangers," Megan says. "They're our true friends."
Identifying the culprits moves to the top of my Christmas list.
One of my favorite Gary Larsen Far Side panels depicts two gorillas lounging while eating bananas. One turns to the other and says, "You know, Sid, I really like bananas...I mean, I know that's not profound or nothin'....Heck! We all do...But for me, I think it goes far beyond that." This captures how Joanne Huist Smith feels about her grief during the holiday season in her memoire The 13th Gift: Sure, other people grieve for deceased loved ones during the Christmas season, but, for Joanne, "it goes far beyond that." Her transition from grief to accepted joy requires the agency of "true friends" who sneak onto her porch at night and leave cheap gifts on her doorstep. Of course, it's the thought that counts, it's the manifestation that the true spirit of Christmas is in giving. Oh, I get the message loud and clear, Joanne. I bear the message no ill-will; it's the messenger I find unsettling.
This short book is an bewildering case-study of how some people believe they are the central character in all narratives. Wherever Joanne goes, people stop to talk to her, stop leading their dreary existences and spout platitudes and wisdom so that Joanne can continue her day with a hint of mist in her eyes or a spark of warmth in her heart. Her interactions with shopping clerks at discount stores is most fantastical--even in the busiest of shopping seasons they notice Joanne, they speak to Joanne, they follow Joanne. When Joanne wants furniture delivered Christmas Eve and the furniture guy says sorry, he's completely booked, people with names like "the lady with the Master Card" gather in a pack and threaten the owner with economic blackmail until he relents. But not until after he tells a crowd of complete strangers that's he's distraught because he never had time to buy his daughter a special edition Barbie because he's working so hard. Dammit, Owner, stop boo hooing and acknowledge that Joanne is struggling and give her what she wants. Everybody else does. What makes you think you're so special, anyway? Is this your story? No, it's not. So shut the fuck up and drive your sorry ass on Christmas Eve so Joanne can come through for her kids.
Complete strangers are aware of Joanne's plight and leave gifts and messages. This is the main drive of the book, how Joanne's parenting was going down the tube after her perfect husband (and don't get me started on how perfect the dead spouse was--geeze: he embodied every husband/dad stereotype imaginable and, evidently, never did one damn thing wrong except die) passed away, but these mysterious gifts bring the spirit of tinsel and twinkling lights back into her life. She spends an inordinate time trying to "catch" these gift givers. I won't spoil the ending, but suffice to say if I was Joanne's relative or friend, I would be offended by this book. The recognition of support from people who love and support you? There's no glory in that story. But that complete strangers understand your grief so well that they can transform your world with a few purchases from Dollar Tree? Find me a publisher!
I know I'm wrong for these opinions, wrong because I refuse to be Joanne's cheerleader. What bothers me about this book is its depiction of how Joanne finds that her children, her family, and complete strangers help her cope with the loss of her spouse because they all notice her, study her, understand her. But what about people who no one notices suffering? I suppose they could read this book and think, "Well, good thing Joanne didn't experience anonymity and apathy in any crowd."