The Cat Door
The space beneath our tree remains void of material offerings this year. Our gifts are ephemeral, wrapped solely in love, and invisible to the eye. To a child, this absence might prompt disappointment. Yet, I know that the most profound gift I have bestowed upon existence was the conscious decision to abstain from procreation—to halt the lineage of trauma and dedicate this lifetime to healing from my individual and our collective cultural malaise.
We witness in the public sphere, most visibly in ultra-corrupted figures like Donald Trump, the catastrophic manifestation of a society that refuses to heal its wounded inner children. It is a horrific spectacle of unaddressed damage projected outward onto the masses. Trump has no limits imposed upon him as he maliciously wounds a nation, and a world. Unlike Herr Trump, my own trauma marked childhood ended with me; it was not to be transmitted to another innocent vessel, let alone an entire democracy.
This choice of childlessness carries its own weight as the twilight of life approaches. There are no guaranteed voices of kin to fill the silence of the holiday table; the solitude of old age looms as a tangible reality. I witness Aunt Susie’s final years in a memory care center, abandoned by her last remaining daughter, and ignored by most of the rest of the family. I have three grandsons through Sharon, but only one, Jasper, has any interest in grandfatherly love from me. Hmm, I see a bit of myself in Aunt Susie, and am grateful we saved up enough money to avoid urine soaked nursing homes.
I possess no one bound to me by biological obligation, only those connections forged in the fire of genuine affinity—relationships with a few precious members of humanity who miraculously share their love with me (Sharon White, sister Pam, Aunt Susie, Jim Hussey and Jo Hussey, David O’Dell, Frank Hartley, Sean Tucker (my oldest and best friend ever), Tami Worley, Jim and Mary Minor, Madison Limón (she endeared herself to me forever by helping me with my father) Jodi Walder, Craig Parker and Betsy Parker, Bruce Collins, Jeanne and Mike Israelski, Kareen Stockton of the book club, and Sophia, Gayle O’Toole, Sharon Mckenzie, Doug Bamford of the Grateful Gathering group.
The holiday season often serves as a mirror, reflecting our deepest vulnerabilities and the stark reality of our human condition. It is a time that demands we look beyond the superficial exchange of goods and peer into the soul of our shared existence. Genuine compassion arises not from obligation, but from the conscious choice to witness one another’s struggles without judgment, recognizing that we are all navigating the complexities of either embracing or avoiding healing in a fractured world.
Let us offer ourselves the grace often reserved for others. In a culture clamoring for validation through accumulation and lineage, finding peace in one’s own company and chosen family is a radical act of self-love. We must nurture the light within, however flickering, to navigate the long nights of winter. By tending to our own wounds, we contribute to the healing of the collective, offering a silent yet potent remedy to the sickness of our age.
I find solace in the small, unscripted moments of beauty—the purr of a cat, the warmth of a friendship, the silence of a winter morning. Loving life with Sharon, nurturing ancient friendships, cultivating new friendships and alliances with politically active neighbors
(hello to Damon Stevens ,Sarah Aaserude and husband Todd, and Scott Selfridge and wife Cindy!), traveling, hiking and training for a road race, and writing prodigiously have served as my anchors through recent years.
As we traverse this emotionally complex season, what sustains your spirit? For us, it is the concept of the “cat door.” Just as we installed a door for Felix to seek shelter from the elements, we have installed a metaphorical cat door in our hearts.
It allows people to come and go as they please, honoring their autonomy and their journey. We appreciate all who have found warmth within our home and our lives, however briefly.
This Christmas, may you find solace in the small, unscripted moments of beauty.
May you find the courage to heal, the wisdom to choose your own legacy, and the grace to keep the door of your heart open.
