Bright Lights

As soon as Thanksgiving was over, my husband didn't waste time hauling all our Christmas decor and dumping them in the family room as he did last year. I was a little disconcerted.

"Don't you want to start decorating the house?" he asked as he took out strings upon strings of colored lights.

"I don't feel like decorating the house," I said. "I'm just too sad."

"Why not? Why are you sad?" he asked in a tone that sounded both naive and concerned. I could sense he genuinely wanted to know but that didn't stop the irritation from creeping in me. "I'm sad because Kai is dead." 

These words that rolled out of my tongue are still alien to me. They don't feel real and yet I'm surprised at how easily they came out of my mouth. Heavy and irreversible.

My husband's face clouded as if he was hearing this piece of news for the first time. He stopped what he was doing and gave me a hug. "I understand," he said next. "But is it all right if I do it?"

I nodded in his shoulder and muffled, "Yes. But I won't help you. I really won't." He sighed and said, "That's fine."

Three days after Kai died, my husband busied himself with whatever chore he could find in the house. He mowed the lawn, cleaned the gutters, pruned trees, made his wooden workbench from scratch, while I, for my part, laid crumpled on our bed, crying day and night. Inertia was my only friend. He would occasionally stay with me and cry with me but he would go and find something to do after an hour or two.

One day, I asked if it's possible for our smaller flat screen TV in the family room to be transferred to our bedroom. I didn't want to watch the telly anywhere else but in the bedroom. So when my mother-in-law suggested Netflix, where I could choose whatever movies, TV shows, etc. I want to watch without being bombarded by commercials, I wanted it done.

The task proved more complicated than we thought. There were wires to re-route, Internet cables to bring under the house and into our bedroom. In other words, it wasn't as simple as unplugging the TV, carrying it to the bedroom and re-plugging it. So I gave up on the idea. I just didn't want to deal with too many complex stuffs.

But my husband went at it like it was the only mission in his life. He re-routed wires, drilled holes, pulled cables and went under the house with a hazmat suit on to get it into our bedroom. There were a few times I told him it was okay, if it was too much work, he didn't have to do it. But he kept at it, until finally he unplugged the TV from the family room, carried it in our bedroom and re-plugged it. And it worked. I got Netflix without leaving the safety of our bedroom.

I knew then that it was one of the ways my husband used to cope with the heaviness of our grief. He found solace doing work around the house. He found expression by creating something with his hands. And so, this time around to cope with the impending sadness that this holiday will bring to us, he busied himself again.

He put up Christmas lights on our roof, the lighted candy canes on the fence and some more lights on our trees. Meanwhile, I read, surfed the Internet, and did some crafting. Sometimes I would watch his progress from inside our house. Sometimes I would worry that he would hurt himself climbing up and down the ladder. But he was in his element. He knew by heart where the lights should be and how he wanted them to come together.

During dinner he told me about his progress, his plans and what hardware he still needed to get. And I nodded. He told me he would decorate the inside of the house as soon as he gets done with the Christmas lights. And I nodded. "I won't help you, though," I reminded him. He smiled, "I know."

Before we went to bed, he convinced me to go outside in the freezing cold to witness the lighting of all the Christmas lights he managed to put up. He was so excited, so enthusiastic about showing it to me. We stepped outside in our warm, thick bathrobes, I was thankful it was already late and nobody in the neighborhood saw us, and I waited as my husband plugged in the lights.

A flicker or two here and there, and our multicolored Christmas lights went on. They looked lovely. They made our house glow. I'd imagine people down the hill and those driving in the freeway could see them. My husband stood beside me, his face all lit up in different hues. He had a huge smile as he surveyed his handiwork.

"It looks beautiful," I told him, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. He nodded, put an arm on my shoulder and managed to choke out, "Yes, it is. Kai would be proud."