A Christmas Story

For Christmas 2012, Pip wanted all things firefighter: fire trucks, fireman costume, fireman pajamas, fireman underwear...he was obsessed. So when the firemen arrived that Christmas Day, Pip was sure Santa had been listening.

We were dressed in our Christmas best (except Pip, who was in his new fireman costume, of course), strapping in for our drive to my aunt and uncle's for Christmas lunch in Harvard, MA (we were living in Charlestown at the time) when I received a ping on my phone: "Please bring Grit," it read, "Gus wants a friend!"

"Should we bring her?" I asked, contemplating the work to go back inside to get her, make room in the trunk, and then lock up again.

"No, it's OK, she'll be fine until we get back," said my always-practical other-half.

"But it's Christmas..." I said, as I unbuckled, and began to get out of the car.

"OK," said Roo, "I'll get her. "She'll be happy to see Gus...I just hope Gus doesn't run away."

"Well, at least Grit never goes far..." I reminded him.

And so we arrived. Out of the car, spilled: mother, father, 2 grandmothers, a chubby-cheeked 6-month-old, a 3-year-old fireman, a luke-warm apple pie, a trunk full of presents, and a very enthused 2-year-old black lab. As soon as we opened the trunk, Grit and Gus (her yellow counterpart) were gone.

"The won't go far" we said, "They'll be back."

Inside the house, we were enveloped by warmth, cheer, christmas carols, family members bustling, the morning's aftermath of present-opening lingering in the corners, and children running about. Bloody Marys poured. Candied nuts at every turn. Smells from the kitchen assuring us that our post-Christmas famish would soon be satiated. Everyone was watching my children, but me. I went to the kitchen to help my aunt Molly and cousin Eliza.

Soon Roo came in, dressed in his coat and hat, "I'm going to look for the dogs."

"They're still not back?" I asked.

Bobby and his girlfriend, Stephanie, arrived with their Bernese mountain dog, Otis. Another round of greetings. A little more chaos. "Where are Grit and Gus?" Stephanie asked.

"They ran away. Roo is out looking for them," I fill her in.

"Well, I just heard the strangest sound outside," she said, "it sounded like a child screaming."

"Stephanie," Bobby interjected, "you're hearing things." He laughed.

Eliza rolled her eyes. When Stephanie walked out of the kitchen, she said, "She is always creating drama."

Well, I assured myself, if there's a child screaming out there, Roo will hear it and know what do. I am sure Roo will return with Grit and Gus, and then we will be able to eat. I leave the kitchen to find my baby to nurse her. I'm hoping she will nap while we eat.

Roo returned. Gus returned...but without Grit. This was strange. Grit never goes far from home and she never goes far solo. But lunch was ready. It was hot. It was time to sit down for Christmas lunch. And so we sat.

(Grit had been missing for about 2 hours at this point.)

Some context before I continue...

In 2012, Roo and I were on a roller coaster--not as a couple, but as new parents. We entered parenthood on what felt like shaky ground. After our son, Pip, was born, we found ourselves in the pediatric wing of many hospitals time and again. Each time (thank you, God) we were lucky(?) enough to leave with a healthy baby in our arms, but as soon as we would start to feel like things were going to be OK, we would find ourselves back at the hospital, facing yet another disease we had never heard of (or the possibility of one that thankfully never came). I'm happy to report, 11 years later, Pip is healthy, strong, wise, funny, and so stinking smart, sensitive and thoughtful it's easy to forget those darker times. But man, did he put up some early fights.

Prior to having a baby, Roo and I had never spent the night in a hospital in our entire 30 plus years. By the time Pip was 3, we had spent many nights in many hospitals in multiple states; we had been rushed to the ER in an ambulance after Pip had a seizure and was left unconscious; we had been evacuated off an island when Pip couldn't breathe; we had watched him receive multiple MRIs and chest x-rays when they suspected Pip to have Hydrocephalus, and then again when they thought he had Situs Inversus. But the worst was when Pip needed a blood transfusion because his 3-year-old body had stopped producing red blood cells. He was diagnosed with Transient Erythroblastopenia of Childhood. They told us if you're child is going to have a blood disease, this is the only diagnosis you want to hear because it's transient. But those days not knowing were the hardest days of my life. I often think about the parents that don't get the TEC diagnosis.

Whoa, that was a little more context than I had anticipated, but writing about that time is therapeutic in that it feels like a long time ago now. It's a good sign I'm writing about it--I couldn't talk about it back then.

And then, our 2-year-old black lab, Rita, died unexpectedly. We came downstairs one Wednesday morning in 2010 and she wouldn't get up off her bed. We knew something was wrong. We took her to the vet, they ran some blood tests, and told us she needed to be admitted to the hospital. She was diagnosed with another disease we had never heard of--Lyme Nephritis. On Sunday afternoon, we had to put her to sleep.

Fast forward two years later to when Grit, our new 2-year-old lab, is missing on Christmas day.

I was sitting next to the window in my aunt and uncle's dining room finishing my apple pie when something came over me. I looked down at Phoebe in her bouncy chair- she was sound asleep. I stood up, and pushed my chair away from the table. I told Roo I was going to look for Grit.

Bundling up in my red puffy coat, Eliza said she was coming with me. Outside, we started walking towards the woods. That's when we heard it--everywhere, all around us--at first, we couldn't make out what it was, but we instantly felt an urgency in the air, and we began to run. Slowly, it dawned on me.

"Eliza, those are dogs howling. They're telling us something is wrong. It's Grit. She's in trouble" I said. I reached for my cell phone in my back pocket and dialed Roo's number.

"Did you find her?" he asked.

"No. But Roo, dogs are howling everywhere. They're telling us something is really wrong. It's Grit. I know it. Come quick."

Eliza and I ran into the woods to the beaver pond located about 1/2 mile from her parent's house. The howling was louder, more urgent. It sounded like hundreds of dogs crying out. We began to run around the pond. Soon we heard something else, like a child crying. I remembered what Stephanie had said earlier. I ran faster.

"It's Grit," I yelled at Eliza, "She's in the pond. I know it." About another 1/2 mile into the woods, we spotted her. Sure enough, she had fallen through the ice in the beaver pond. She was about 50 yards out. Her paws were gripping the edge of the ice. She was making the most awful sounds. I was hysterical when Roo arrived with my uncle Chris and cousin Bobby.

"You've got to get her, Roo. She's going to die," I screamed.

Roo looked at my uncle. "It's not that deep," Chris said.

We felt the urgency in the desperate sounds coming from Grit. Roo (forever practical) looked around and found a large stick. He tried to use the stick to distribute his weight wider so he could slide out towards Grit, but it was no use, the ice wasn't strong enough to hold him. He fell in and started to walk towards Grit breaking the ice as he went. He was up to his chest in freezing cold water, about halfway to Grit when he said, "I can't feel my hands my anymore. It's too cold. I've got to turn back."

He waded back to the shore. Chris said he had a canoe back at the house that they could use to rescue Grit. He and Bobby started the mile run back to the house. Roo got very quiet as he does when is trying to figure out how to fix something. Eliza made a few suggestions but I couldn't hear her. I looked at Grit. Suddenly, she stopped making those horrible noises. The silence was even worse. She sank a little further into the water.

"We don't have time, Roo" I screamed, "She's dying."

"Chris and Bobby will be back any second," he said, "We just have to wait for the boat."

"We don't have time." I was sure of it. I ran to the water's edge, took off my red coat but forgot to take my phone out of my back pocket, "I'm going to get her."

"No, Georgia. It's too cold," Roo yelled, "Just wait!"

"I'm not letting another one of our dogs die!"

And with that I stepped into the pond. I followed the opening in the ice that Roo had created earlier. With each step, Grit was closer, but still noiseless. She was slowly sinking. Underwater, the beavers' work tangled my feet- it was hard to navigate in the cold. At one point, I lost my right boot. When I got to the point where Roo turned back, I hear Eliza and Roo yelling at me, but I don't know what they're saying. I decide the fastest way to break the ice is to launch my body weight onto it. So I belly flopped forward. It worked--the ice breaks, and was able to take a few steps closer to Grit. I belly flopped again, took a few more steps, belly flopped again, took a few more steps. Grit was close. Roo was yelling behind me. I remember thinking, 'I just need to get to Grit.' I knew I would be OK. 'Just keep moving, Georgia' I told myself, 'you can handle the cold.' Belly flop, break, walk. Repeat. I was within an arm distance from Grit when I yelled,

"Roo, I can't feel my arms."

Belly flop, break...and suddenly, I was there. I reached for her. It felt like I caught her right before she slipped under. "Roo," I gasp, "I can't hold her...I'm too cold..."

And then Roo was there. "Get out of the water" he yelled.

Finally, I did as I was told. I managed to get back the shore. Roo pulled Grit in behind me. Chris, Eliza and Bobby and the boat were waiting for us.

"Why didn't you wait for us, Georgia?" my uncle asked.

"We didn't have time." I responded. Later, again and again, I will wonder if I had been stupid to go out there. If I should have waited.

Eliza, who is a nurse, instructed me to take off my clothes, and wrapped me up in my red coat. Bobby half-carried, half-guided me back to the house where my aunt and mother-in-laws were waiting with blankets and hot tea. Chris and Roo carried Grit back to the house. They wrapped her in blankets on the kitchen floor.

I got in a hot shower. I couldn't stop shaking, but we had saved Grit. 'Grit is alive,' I kept telling myself. I wouldn't have feeling in my hands for 6 days. Bobby and Stephanie rushed Grit to the vet. The firemen arrived. They insisted on talking with Roo and me--they needed to rule out hypothermia immediately. One fireman pushed my mother-in-law aside and barged into the bathroom where I was showering.

"Maam," he muttered awkwardly, "we need to ask you some questions immediately."

"That's fine, but I'm not getting out of this hot shower," I said. Apparently, I can be rather stubborn in crisis situations.

And so they interviewed me from behind the shower curtain.

Downstairs, my other mother-in-law entertained Pip and Phoebe. Phoebe woke up ready to nurse. Pip ran around rejoicing in the arrival of real live firemen in the living room.

Soon Roo and I were deemed to be OK by the firemen. I finally got out of the shower. Roo and I borrowed some dry clothes from my aunt and uncle. I borrowed a pair shoes and realized I would need to get a new phone. I was breastfeeding a very hungry Phoebe when the vet called. Roo took the call.

"We're so sorry," they said, "but it doesn't look good."

Grit's body temperature was 80 degrees when she arrived at the vet (she had been in the beaver pond for over 3 hours by the time we found her). She was unresponsive. They told Roo it was very unlikely that she would recover. They would call us back in a few hours with an update.

We piled back into our car that night without Grit, without a trunk full of presents, and with an empty apple pie dish. My mother-in-law had to drive because Roo and I couldn't feel our hands. It was a very solemn, eery drive back to Charlestown.

At home, just before midnight, the vet called again. Roo picked up:

"Mr. Reath?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Reath, we have some good news. Grit is going to live. She's OK."

"Really?"

"We've never seen anything like this. It's a Christmas miracle. We can't explain it, but somehow this dog has recovered from her body temperature being at 80 degrees like it never even happened. She's wagging her tail and eating her food. We just love her. She's making our Christmas. We should warn you, Mr. Reath, we're not sure we'll give her back!"

"Grit has that effect on people," Roo said, smiling.

Grit returned home the next morning and was featured on the local Boston news a few days later. They titled the piece, True Grit: A Christmas Miracle. Pip even made a guest appearance in his fireman costume while they interviewed his parents about how they helped save Grit's life.

Wishing you all love and light this holiday season,
Georgia

PS As always, thank you for reading.

This week...
Monday CAKE 9am
Tuesday Blue Light Yoga 9am
Wednesday CAKE 9am
Wednesday Blue Light Book Club 630 pm
Thursday Blue Light Yoga 9am
Friday CAKE 9am

Our next Blue Light Book Club discussion is this Wednesday, December 16 at 630 PM. We will be discussing The Story of More by Hope Jahren. Please register ahead of time. All proceeds will be donated to Eden Reforestation Projects. Haven't read or finished the book yet? I hear it's excellent on Audible. The author reads it herself.

Our next Blue Light Discussion is Wednesday, January 20 at 630 PM EST. We will be discussing The Head to Heart Kuplunk. Please register ahead of time.

Would you like to teach Blue Light Yoga and/or CAKE? I'm looking to train a very special group of individuals to help me spread the light. Please email me if you're interested.
A sneak peak of what's coming in 2021:

• The Blue Light Collective Website is nearly finished!

• Friday 12:15-1:15 pm Yin Yoga Series with Brooke Carnwath.

• Saturday Series with Georgia's favorite guest teachers.

• Vesper Flights led by Katy Smith Abbott.

• Blue Light Teacher Training! (Please email me if you're interested.)