The following essay is about loss and grief. While I’ve been thinking about them all year, they can often come home in a different way during the holidays. If you’re someone who is currently experiencing the impact of loss—especially if you’re family and suffering the same loss as I am—maybe save the essay for when you’re mentally prepared to be reminded of and thinking about the topic. —Josh
Welcome to Pottersville
There’s a version of today’s newsletter where I write the essay on It’s a Wonderful Life that I’ve been wanting to write for over a year now. The essay where I trace George Bailey’s dreams through the movie, showing how the way his life turned out was ultimately more meaningful than anything he could have dreamed for himself even though it was largely the dreams of other people that he ended up living out, the visions of those like his father and of his wife Mary that he ended up building. The essay where I share that George wanted to lasso the moon but ended up lassoing a star: the angel Clarence.
Perhaps one day I’ll write that essay. But for today, that essay belongs to an alternate world. Or maybe it’s me that’s in the alternate world. Because I started thinking about that essay the last time that I watched It’s a Wonderful Life sometime last December.
The following month, my youngest brother died and I suddenly found myself living in Pottersville.
Pottersville: the name that the town of Bedford Falls assumes in the parallel universe Clarence shows George where he had never been born. A world where George did not exist to take over the Bailey Building and Loan when his father passed away and a world where he was not there to fight back against the machinations of Mr. Potter, the now eponymous businessman controlling every aspect of Pottersville.
This alternate world is meant to show the impact a single life can have, the idea being that it might be much easier to notice the absence of someone’s life and daily impact than to notice its presence.
Unfortunately, this past year I have experienced the truth of that idea firsthand. My brother Joey is now absent from our daily lives and his presence—chiefly its absence—is one of the first things that comes to mind every day and continually returns to my thoughts.
I think of him whenever I use the mug that he gave me when he lived in Hawaii, when I look at the bookshelf or movie collection and see gifts he gave me as recently as the previous Christmas. I think of him when I lead songs on Sundays at church—every Sunday—about victory over the grave and death, about eternal life, about healing and deliverance and rescue and redemption.
I think of Joey when I open my closet and see the few items of his clothing that I took as keepsakes, when I see a view or a scene that I know he would have loved and captured with his camera. I think of him when I look in the faces of my two young boys and see his smile in their smiles and his joy, his brilliant spirit burning in their souls.
I think of him when I weep like I’m weeping right now as I write this because I ache that he’s gone and never coming back.
And I think of him when I never would have thought of him before, like when the Ghost of Christmas Future shows Scrooge the house of Bob Cratchit and Scrooge sees Tiny Tim’s chair by the fire, empty save for his crutch and hat resting on it.
Both George Baily and Scrooge get the chance to go back to a world where their visions of potential Christmases Present and Future marked by absence do not come to pass. “And Tiny Tim, who did not die” is one of the most memorable lines in both the novel and the Muppet adaptation of A Christmas Carol, and for good reason. The dark future of tragedy and loss has been avoided. Cheer and merrymaking can resume unabated. The prize goose can be gotten and the true spirit of Christmas can be honored and celebrated.
But there is no second chance for me. Or for anyone grieving the loss of a loved one this Christmas. No magical moment where George Baily can say between sobs, “I want to live again…Please, God, I want to live again” and the snow starts falling like magic, signaling his return to the “right” world where all is as he left it.
I want Joey to live again. Please, God, I want Joey to live again. I want to return to the world where he is alive and well. But though he is alive this very instant, that life is a heavenly life. He cannot live again here, now, with us.
“Life is made up of meetings and partings,” Kermit the Frog as Bob Cratchit shares to his family as they gather around the table to celebrate a Christmas without Tiny Tim. “That is the way of it. I am sure that we shall never forget Tiny Tim, or this first parting that there was among us.”
Meetings and partings. It’s an apt description of the experience of grief, and not just limited to a one-time experience of loss but of the ongoing process of grief. In thinking about the idea, I’ve used the language of hellos and goodbyes myself this past year. Each time that I think of Joey has seemed like a bitter goodbye, a reminder of what I’ve lost in losing a brother so young.
But—slowly—I’ve also come to see each time I think of him as an opportunity as well, a gift.
Because, as hard as it is to say goodbye to him again each time I think of him, it is just as true that each time he comes to mind is also a hello. Another chance to think of him, remember why I loved him so dearly, to smile through the tears and say “Hi again, Joey. I’ve missed you so much.”
So goodbye for now again, Joey. I shall never forget you, or this first parting that there was among us. I know I will see you again soon when I think of you next, brother, and we will say hello once more.
Kid Corner
Reading, Listening, or Watching
Mostly Christmas movies and shows on this list this month!
White Christmas—my favorite Christmas movie and a family tradition that Lo and I are continuing. I am always quoting this movie (especially “Mutual, I’m sure” and “[place] should be beautiful this time of year: all that snow!”) and it doesn’t quite feel like Christmas until we watch it.
While You Were Sleeping—this one was not a Christmas movie my family watched growing up but has become one for me. It’s not quite the traditional romcom: you don’t watch it again and again to watch Lucy (Sandra Bullock) fall in love with one of the Callaghan boys (Peter Gallagher and Bill Pullman), you watch it to watch Lucy fall in love with and become part of the Callaghan family.
Elf—ok, I don’t think I can watch this one every year, but this year our oldest saw it for the first time and we all enjoyed it together.
Robin, Robin—such a cute short film. It’s made for kids, but both adults in this household thoroughly enjoyed it too.
This Is Christmas—a recent Christmas movie about what happens when a group of people who all commute on the same train every day actually start to get to know one another.
Ex-mas—recently we’ve begun to include a cheesy Christmas movie in our lineup each year too. We watched Single Parents this year and Arrow and The Flash back in the day, so a movie with both Leighton Meester and Robbie Amell caught our attention. It was actually pretty good as far as cheesy Christmas movies go.
Frasier—while in past years we’ve watched the Christmas episodes of The Office or Seinfeld, this year we watched a bunch of the Christmas episodes of Fraiser, starting with (and inspired by) the final episode of the 2023 revival of Fraiser and then working our way back through the original show.
Wondering While Wandering 2023 Recap
Because this is the last newsletter of 2023, permit me the indulgence of looking back a bit to close out this newsletter and share some of the favorite things that I sent out this year in Wondering While Wandering.
I began this personal newsletter this year in part to have a place to host my thoughts about Joey and share them as I processed them. It’s no surprise to me that the text and audio of my eulogy for him was the top post here this year.
The main type of post I send out here regularly is the monthly roundups and updates (just like today’s newsletter) where I share a short essay and some tidbits about what I’m enjoying, thinking about, and experiencing.
I think my favorites of these were the ones with essays on the symbolism of our Christmas lights and my grief, what I learned about daily faithfulness of a neighbor as she used a leaf blower on her lawn, and the thought I’ve had recently that—even with everything else going on—I’m living in the good old days right now.
I have enjoyed having a place to share some poetry as well: I don’t write that much of it, but I’m thankful to have this place to share it in! The three that I shared here this year are:
New Moon (this one is about seeing the world through my son’s eyes)
Invitation to Love (this one’s about interpreting the cries of our children for help or attention as an invitation to enter their world)
The Three Kings (this one’s about being reminded about the Christmas story even in nature)
Finally, I was able to share a few articles and essays that I’ve previously written for other publications or previous blogs of mine. Not the most consistent feature here, but one that I’ll keep for the occasional time I have use for it.
Thank you for subscribing and for reading. I appreciate you all and am thankful to have had conversations with many of you about what I share here. It means so much to me that you care to read these words of mine. Thanks for wondering with me as we wander together.
That’s all for this Wondering While Wandering! Thank you as always for reading and caring.
For discussion: what are you enjoying, reading, watching, learning, etc?
Thank you for sharing your grief and making a hospitable space for the rest of us. The older I get, the more aware I am of the great cloud of witnesses that have gone before me, and find myself in conversation with them at times too. I’m not Catholic, but I find such comfort in the mystery that maybe they really witnessing our lives; maybe they really are interceding on our behalf.
And yes, “While you were sleeping” is one of the greats. I especially love that dinner scene where the grandma keeps commenting on how creamy the mashed potatoes are lol. So much like life.