Christmas’ Remembered
Christmas is a magical time of the year. It was supposed to fill the world with love, joy, and hope. I don’t believe my Christmas’ got the memo.
Living in a small rundown cottage where mice hybernated in the kitchen cabinets during the winter, she cared for her aging adoptive parents, Clayton and Harriette. She was still childlike, yet more mature than her peers. She had to be. She was a child and an unexpected caregiver. They loved her in their odd way, yet also misused and sometimes psychologically abused her. Somehow she was above it — as far as a ten-year-old could be.
She, just like her peers, anticipated the joys of Christmas. Some Christmases, she was surprised with gifts under the tree, a nativity scene, and at the top of the beautiful Christmas tree was a star.
Other Christmases weren’t talked about and maybe were never known to others; those Christmas had no holiday lights or pieces of garland dressing their humble home. It was those Christmases she took decorating upon herself, cutting a low branch from the pine tree in the field. She was extra thrilled when the tree branch had a remaining pinecone attached. She would proudly bring that branch into the small living room, place it inside the oversized treestand, and decorate it. She would lovingly set up the old nativity scene. She would wake Harriett in hopes of excitement equal to hers, but a calm “Why bother” greeted her. Harriette’s breath was overwhelmed with alcohol. She looked into Clayton’s bedroom; he was not there. He was either at work or with his mistress. No one remembers those Christmas days. Nobody except for her.
As she aged, she recognized that Christmas was not the same in her family. It was unpredictable and seemingly unappreciated. When they did have Christmas dinner, it was clear that no one truly wanted to be there. Short comments, demands, and uncomfortable glances. She pretended to be happy while scanning Harriet and Clayton’s faces. She often wondered if a miracle would happen that year — a blessing that would erase alcoholism, anger, and sorrow. She lost hope in Christmas miracles.
When she became a mother, things were different. She was thrilled to buy gifts for her adoring husband and energetic little one. The brightly wrapped gifts were placed under a small decorated tree. Hugs and kisses followed as each gift was unwrapped.
She found peace in knowing she would have Christmas every year. Until Christmas was no longer. She knew the unforgiving Christmas days of her past would never leave her.
Her home was dark and gloomy, and filled with sadness. No sounds of her beloved singing off-key while baking the ham. No little one laughing with anticipation of opening the presents. No tree. No lights or mistletoe. She sat in the dull light of the moon — alone. It’s strange how things happen. One Christmas can be full of joy and wonder, and others with lonely memories and unforgotten love. She would give anything to have her family back. It wasn’t in the cards for her.
This Christmas Eve, she lay alone in the cold queen size bed, reaching over and wishing for his warmth. She closed her bloodshot eyes and hoped her little one would jump onto the bed, squealing with excitement that Santa had come during the night. She would give every Christmas forward to have one magical Christmas again.
She lay in bed, watching the ceiling fan above her. Passing cars’ lights would dance on the walls. She was alerted by noises downstairs, hushed voices, and footsteps. She knew she had turned the television off. The doors were securely locked. Maybe this is the last Christmas she would have to suffer through, and she would be okay with that. At least she would be with them.
She slowly got out of bed, trying not to encourage the creak of the bed frame. Cautiously she tiptoed down the stairs. The smell of pine and holiday dinner filled her nose. Lights sparkle on the walls, and soft Christmas music plays. When she rested her feet from the last step onto the cold floor, her little one ran to her, wrapping his arms around her waist as tight as he could. She dropped to her knees with tears streaming down her pale face and held him tightly; he whispered, “I missed you, Mommy.”
She scooped him up into her arms. She carried him into the kitchen and saw her husband, with his Christmas apron tied around his waist and wearing his matching kitchen mitts, pulling the freshly baked ham adorned with pineapple and cherries out from the oven. He was humming his favorite Christmas song. His typical holiday feast was ready to be served. He turned and smiled when his eyes met hers. He looked up, and wrapped his arms around them; kissing her under the mistletoe. The tree was in the corner, decorated with gingerbread men and candy canes, and at the top was the most magnificent angel.
It was a Christmas that she’ll never forget, a Christmas that she’ll be able to relive every day of her afterlife.
The End
Mojha MacDowell
Christmas 2022
