na·tiv·i·ty (n -t v -t , n -). n. pl. na·tiv·i·ties. 1. Birth, especially the place, conditions, or circumstances of being born.
Dear Luke,
You’re a grown man, turning thirty tomorrow. But every year around this time I see you again as you were–your tiny form making a manger of a down pillow. I was twenty-two and you were my sixteen-day-old Christmastime Baby. I felt so very Mary-like. Maybe that’s why I love Virgin De Guadalupe candles and statues and all things Holy Mother. I seemed to understand her and would forever be connected to her because of you.
You had awakened in the wee hours. I nursed you, gently laid you in the pillow I’d brought from the bed, then moved us both to the floor near the Christmas tree. I lay my head near yours beneath the glow of twinkle lights on pine branches. You slept. I wept. I loved you more than I could say. Still do.
This poem is always the first thing out of my mouth when someone asks me to recite. This poem, that night, a young mother and her newborn child. Thank you for being born. Thank you for being my son.
Love, Mom
“Nativity”
No wise men came
when my son was born–
ten days before the Holy One.
There was no star,
no bleating sheep.
No one traveled far.
But there was an angel–
spoke of Light and Love.
My newborn son, like Hers,
brought hope.
Melody Newey © 1983
7 Responses
Melody, I feel similar Mary feelings about my babe now. This is to say that 1) Christmas songs have never been sweeter, and 2) I loved your letter and poem. Thank you for sharing them with us.
Just beautiful. Thank you.
This is beautiful, Melody. It is such a universal story, this story of mother and child. My first child (a boy) was born on Christmas Day 39 years ago, a lucky trick of nature that makes the Nativity, the universal story, intimately personal.
Wonderful. We are all Everywoman, arent’ we? Thank you for reading and sharing your insights here.
What a gift you have, Melody. Just lovely.
This is beautiful, Melody. Thank you for sharing.
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