Moving through Death’s Doorway

Anne Anderson, “The Little Match Girl”

As I write this, my mother, my three brothers, and two of our wives are sitting around my father as the intervals between his breaths grow longer.  He seems as vulnerable as a child, and as we watch him sliding towards death, I find myself thinking of his version of Hans Christian Andersen’s “Little Match Girl.”

It is one of my father’s Christmas poems—he would write one for the family Christmas card each year—and I like to think that he will soon be entering some kind of luminescent world such as both he and Andersen describe.

In Andersen’s story, the little match girl, freezing to death in the snow, lights her matches to stay warm and sees death in the form of a kindly grandmother:

She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the luster there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love. 

“Grandmother!” cried the little one. “Oh, take me with you! You go away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!” And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her. And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noonday: never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety–they were with God.

My father is a materialist who doesn’t believe in life after death and he undoubtedly objects to Andersen’s heavy-handed conclusion. He and I have had many arguments about this over the years as I’ve accused him of a reductive scientism and he has countered that I am superstitious. I’ve also argued that he believes in transcendence of a sort, of the creative spirit. The creative spirit triumphs in this Christmas poem:

Dream of the Little Match Girl in New York

By Scott Bates

On Christmas Eve the child
in rags in the snow
huddled in
the dark doorway
sits selling matches
The shoppers go by in the night
cheerfully with their packages
they talk they laugh they look at the bright windows
The child lights a match to keep warm
it flames
flickers and goes out
she lights another
it makes her face glow
it warms her freezing hands
The wind blows it out
she shivers in the cold
her head nods
she leans against the door frame
and trembles violently
she falls asleep

Suddenly the door goes ajar
an old woman opens the door and looks out

She is the Wise Old Woman of the West
who lives in the house
she is a teacher an artist an ecologist a feminist
her Christmas Tree grows in her backyard
and has a star over it
her house is a beautiful solar house
in blue and green with white trim

She stoops over the sleeping child
She wakes her up gently
and takes her by the hand

She says Come into the beautiful house
and opens the door wide
so they can go inside

And the child rubs her eyes
and warms to the light
she laughs
and her eyes are full of light

And the old woman puts a sign on the door

COME INTO THE BEAUTIFUL HOUSE

Let this be a sign unto you

Come into the beautiful house

Come into the solar house

I know that this poem is an ecological parable about how solar energy can change the ending of Andersen’s story by warming those in the world who are outcast and cold. My father might well object to my spiritual interpretation since his Wise Old Woman of the West is a teacher/artist/ecologist/feminist who will transform the world in material ways. But under the present circumstances and thinking of Andersen’s story, I’m currently thinking of her also as his death.

I like to think that Death will lead him, like a child, into a realm where new adventures and new possibilities await. As my father was well aware, Christmas and the winter solstice celebrate the rebirth of the son/sun on the darkest night of the year, and none of us can say for sure what new reality he is being born into. Knowing his intense curiosity, I have no doubt that he will want to check out every aspect of it.