Every December my sister and I spend an evening with the Kranks, a family we met in 2001 by reading John Grisham’s book, Skipping Christmas. It’s about a middle-aged couple hoping to duck the expense and demands of a traditional Christmas season by taking a cruise.
When the movie came out in 2004, Mary and I rushed to see it. One of her daughters came along but was so embarrassed by our raucous guffawing she nearly walked out. Ever since then, we’ve revisited the Kranks and their illogical antics each Christmas season, looking forward to laughing together at the same places we always laugh.
This year, due to the combination of illness and family commitments, Mary and I failed to fit in our tradition but never lost the desire. Last night, several weeks late, we finally got our opportunity.
We ordered Chinese food, settled with our tea and beef with broccoli on Mary’s upstairs beds and hit the DVD “play” button. Watching Tim Allen and Jamie Lee Curtis make a mess of things was just as hilarious as we remembered, and we took pleasure in every scene.
But then we came to the cancer part. Because we’d seen it before, I knew it was coming but was surprised by my sad reaction. The storyline has a sixty-something couple living across the street from the Kranks, and toward the end of the movie, the wife discovers her cancer has recurred. Conversation hints this will probably be her last Christmas.
As the camera looked across the snowy street into their picture window, we saw them dining alone on Christmas Eve, and suddenly my eyes brimmed with tears. Although these were actors in a fantasy, my heart believed what it saw and thought, “Your immediate future is going to be awful. Enjoy your ‘normal’ dinner together, because it’s not going to last. Misery is on its way.”
I haven’t cried about Nate’s cancer or about losing him for many days in a row. My kids and I talked often about him during the holiday weeks, which was a deep satisfaction to me. Tears were not part of it, and I felt I was doing well.
Then there was the movie and my tears, a reminder of what widow friends have said. “The triggers are there, just beneath the surface, and you’ll be taken by surprise at the oddest times.”
Tears about cancer during a comedy movie would qualify as odd but also as oddly normal. Although it’s difficult to explain, as the tears came, they were soothing, an oxymoron of mourning. Although I don’t cry every day, I’m still grieving the death of my husband. And until earthly life ends, I always will be.
Thankfully, I had my snowman napkin to dab at my eyes, and as the movie concluded, its ending was optimistic. I’m conscious of God’s careful monitoring of my emotions and know he’ll encourage tears whenever it’s right.
I’ve abandoned myself to his flawless care and his consoling promises.
“Your widows… can depend on me.” (Jeremiah 49:11)
