The last white Christmas that I remember in England was about 30 years ago. My grandmother had recently died and so it was imperative that Grandad spend Christmas with us, as it was to be his first without her. I was little and I remember how the snow came down, fine and yet thick at the same time. It made it difficult to see into the distance. The white-out effect in full force. My dad left with my brother to make the drive into the east end of London. The roads were empty, so while the the snow was pretty heavy, he could slowly drive to London. meanwhile, my sister, my Mum, and I walked to our corner sweet shop. I remember holding their hands, walking home, with the snow stinging my eyes, and making my little hands so cold that I cried. I was worried about my dad and brother getting home safely. My sister tried to cheer me up ny promising that when we arrived home, we would go searching for Christmas present. (We never really did...I think both of us hated the idea of actually finding out what your surprise was before the big day.) My bother and Dad made it home,of course, and as ever -and regardless of his loss- Christmas really felt like it had started when Grandad arrived.
Now, thirty years later, we are stuck in Chicago, because, for the second December running, Heathrow cannot cope with the snow that has recently fallen on London. I know that living outside of Chicago and so close to O'hare, we are used to heavy snowfalls and we are far more prepared to clear it. I'm just amazed at the complete ineptness of an major international airport.
So, we sit and we wait for a flight that doesn't arrive until lunchtime on Christmas Eve. And while I am thankful for the fact that we arrive on Christmas eve and not after, I can't help feeling cheated of time. Time with my parents, time with my sister and her family, and time with friends. Time, that if I lived around the corner from them, I may take for granted. Instead, I am grappling for more....more time, more days, more visits. It's running out. The boys get older, as do my parents. I suppose one day, we'll look back, fondly perhaps, on the Christmas that we got stuck in snowy Chicago, while the usually, rainy, moderate climate in England changed to Arctic temperates and aligned with our weather. But not today, not now. Not for a long time.

On Hephzibah

Yesterday morning, I was invited to a holiday tea at the Hephzibah Children’s Associaton. I had always wondered exactly what Hephzibah is, especially since you hear about them in OP all the time. The organization runs all the after-school programs in the schools here. I knew it was some kind of group home and that it was involved with fostering and/or adopting children. However, I was not really prepared for what Hephzibah does and who it serves. It is a completely amazing organization. First, it is in a beautiful old building by the El tracks. And while the basement was built out, the original design (by women in the OP) of an H is still apparent. There is room for 10 children in the upstairs of the home. These children may stay for a few years....they are the residents of Hephzibah and have been victims of emotional and physical abuse. The group home tries to provide a safe, structured environment with therapy so that the children can learn how to trust and heal. Down in the basement is a diagnostic treatment center, that takes in children who have been abused, neglected, or with behavioral or emotional disorders. This is a short-term group home. This part of the home provides medical and psychological evaluation and treatment. What is striking is that it doesn’t look like a group home…I mean, not like the ones I had envisioned. (This was no Annie type place!) Each bedroom was muraled in the style of a children’s book or film - Curious George, Cars, Corduroy, The Little Engine That Could, and the Cat in the Hat. They were truly beautiful. A cook at the home had painted them all. Since PREP is collecting donations for the home this year and the morning was a holiday tea, we talked a lot about Christmas at Hephzibah. The children often come to the home with no idea who Santa is. Or they don’t believe that they will receive any Christmas presents. Christmas morning sounds like a magical morning since there are donations to the home so that every child receives something. I kept thinking about how many toys my children will receive. While I feel truly thankful my children will not have to experience what any of the children at Hephzibah go through, it is absolutely heartbreaking that there is any child on this earth that has to go through the emotional and physical pain that the Hephzibah kids do. They all have their photo on the wall at the entrance, so it feels more like home. You gaze at these kids and there is nothing on their face that shows what they have been through. Maybe I am just inexperienced at looking closely in a child’s face that has been in a terrible situation. But really, they look like the kids I see in the neighborhood. This felt almost more heartbreaking because there is no way of knowing what the children have seen or experienced. One of the most impressive things about Hephzibah is that they work really, really hard to try to get the children back with their families. They offer support for parents who are also struggling with addictions or psychological problems. This, I thought was amazing, because they do it without judgment. I think that would be unbelievably hard. Lord knows parents all tend to judge each other a wee bit and in fairly normal situations! I don’t know…I was deeply moved by the organization. I thought about it all day yesterday. So, I thought I write about it and I have put the link to their website over on the side….check it out.