As we do every morning, this past Christmas morning, my friend Claudia and I walked. We took our usual route through an adjacent neighborhood of tidy Cape Cod houses, all sweet and unassuming except for the decaying zombie house that I’m pretty sure belongs to a serial killer/hoarder. The streets are quiet and winding, no busy straightaways, and conducive to side-by-side strolling.
Per usual we were deep in conversation when I spied a black and white lump in the middle of the road.
We were both hoping it was a skunk, but we weren’t smelling anything, even as we drew closer.
It was a kitten, flattened gruesomely. It bummed us both out. It was not what we wanted to see on Christmas morning. It was not what anyone would want to see on Christmas morning. But there it was.
Me being me, I went back home eager to tell everyone about the squished kitten. But between cute babies and so much love and all the presents we opened, the sad evidence of life’s random cruelty went out of my head.
Can forgetting be a form of generosity? I would argue yes. That’s why I consider my Christmas gift to my family the fact that I am just now telling them this.
Truly! I'm getting better and better at it.
Sometimes forgetting is fitting!