Every year I re-experience the void of emotions that is Lynn as she opens gifts. Actually, it is more than once a year, because the same thing happens on her birthday, or any time she receives something from someone who gives it in love. I don't really know if it is because she just can't feel excitement or gratitude, or doesn't realize she can't show it, but the reality is that her deadpan expression as she quickly unwraps and puts aside her gifts without a single trace of a smile or word of thank you is not only unsettling, after 10 years of trying to help teach her a better way, it can also be enraging. And so another year goes by and I forget again until the next one. But this year was particularly poignant because of the addition of my grandson Enoch to the picture. As Christmas morning dawned and it was time for gift opening, Melissa and I opted to share the experience with one another via texting pictures so we could be together that way. Her first text: "He is taking Christmas morning slowly and sweetly. He focused on his candy for 10 minutes and now he is focused on 2 Leggo men (he still has 6 more to unwrap) and he has yet to open anything else." By contrast, Lynn flew threw her gifts in less than 5 minutes and I honestly don't even remember most of what she opened because she had moved them aside before I could even catch up with what she was doing, and as usual she didn't remark on anything. I think I would have been able to stay at resigned, though, if not for the message from Melissa that came through minutes later with a picture of sweet Enoch on the phone. He was trying to call Jesus to thank him for his candy cane. Such a stark contrast.
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