On the Midnight Ferry because Everything Breaks

A baby being fed by Mom. A manger scene was on display. A Christmas tree was decorated with a glimmering star on top. A collage of family history and hopeful future. A needle, a spoon, a razor blade, a mirror, money, and a revolver. A family home brightly lit for Christmas. All of this in one contact sheet developed by my father, the photographer. I found this among my possessions. I couldn't have imagined one photograph would capture the elements of why I write, about disability in context with addiction, alcoholism, dysfunction, mental health, and religion so vividly.

The thing about family dysfunction is that it doesn't always look like that. Until the cracks start to show. Imagine, your home is decorated for Christmas and everything looks warm and loving, and sometimes it was, and sometimes it wasn't. But, on appearance it looks pretty good. That was the era that the photo depicts. As warm as Christmas could be. A family intact and building, long before the cracks show and it explodes. 

Fast forward a few years and the star on the tree gets replaced with an angel and tinsel would be no more, signifying the years post divorce. Yet, the manger scene would be prominently placed on the mantle for decades to come. That collage would stay at the end of the basement stairs for the rest of the time my family would occupy that home. The evidence of my father's addiction would obscure over the years into a redemption story of faith and treatment, but it never left. 

The family home would be brightly lit for Christmas for decades to come and at a certain point I would be the primary person to string the house with lights, hang the illuminated Santa face that had extended family history, form the glowing cross adjacent to it, and string the outdoor trees trying to replicate the image in this contact sheet. I did that for a long time – a decade or more. 

As the cracks continued to develop, there were split family holidays until those stopped too. There were special presents from Mom that she couldn't afford until she didn't have a way to pull that off anymore. Then there was Christmas without Mom because she was gone. Then there was Christmas without Dad because he went on a psych hold on Christmas Eve. Then there was my last Christmas with my family before my grandmother died and the final cracks began. Death has an interesting way of changing Christmas traditions. For the last fourteen Christmases, I've joined the traditions of others. 

“Caught in the same old stride. And oh my lord I’ll see you. Ruined by the way. Only to remember. The sideways sins of yesterday. Summertime in Denver. Gonna see some friends of mine. I may hide there ‘til September. Fore the leaves begin to die” (Kid Rock, “Midnight Ferry”). 

Transition is a funny thing. It happens in everything we do. As I get older I'm a part of the traditions I joined, but they don't really feel like mine. Sometimes they've been better than mine and sometimes they left me longing for what once was. I've had a few opportunities to create my own traditions, like dog sitting for friends for Christmas so I didn't have to go back home. I loved the freedom of that, just me and the dogs. And some pineapple red curry Thai food. It's a safe bet there was a party in there somewhere. One year, I even celebrated Christmas with the person who would eventually be instrumental in the end of my ministry career. Talk about balancing joy and pain. I've spent two Christmases with coworkers because they knew I'd be alone otherwise. 

“Maybe I should have loved you better. Maybe you should have loved me more. Maybe our hearts were just next in line. Maybe everything breaks sometime” (Jewel, “Everything Breaks”).

What was and what is bridge each other in odd ways sometimes. The cracks and explosion of my family of origin led to spending holidays with friends and their families, with coworkers, with the dogs, and eventually with my new family. My family story was always simmering underneath those stories. When I spent holidays with friends and coworkers it's because I couldn't go home anymore. When I spent holidays dog sitting, it's so I had a peaceful place to retreat to after spending time with my family. When I joined my new family traditions I joined something already established. “Maybe our hearts were just next in line. Maybe everything breaks sometime” (Jewel, “Everything Breaks”).