Christmas Lights
The candles flickered from the wind, I could even imagine the house flickering slightly, or at least shudder. I couldn't see the proof of the hard wind, but I could hear it and most definitely feel it. All candles that were left from last Christmas were now littered about the room, almost covering every surface of the house. With my feet clad in heavy socks I padded around the house, breathing in the air of Christmas that still lingered from the year before. My mom always left the Christmas decorations out, always wanting Christmas to be present. Growing up Christmas was frowned upon, her mom and dad never believing in the holiday. Mom took it upon herself to make sure that every Christmas since her and dad got married was celebrated properly. It was just me, my mom and dad, his sister, brother and wife and Wilma the dog, but she always made it feel like the whole world was in the house. It still smelled like her. In a way, she was Christmas.
Walking past the fireplace I saw the picture my mom forced us to take the first time we ever celebrated Christmas here. She always had this dream of a real Christmas, where snow would cover the ground and red noses and cold fingers would warm by the fireplace. When she and dad celebrated 5 years of marriage her wish came true and that Christmas we drove to the red little cottage by the lake and that was the first of many that the close little family of ours spent cold, red-nosed and incredibly content.
The picture is taken by the fireplace; all of us dressed in the sweaters mom spent the year making, hands clasped and big, happy smiles covering our faces. We took a new one each year, me changing; growing taller and taller, more and more teeth showing up in my smile, something that never changed was the look on my mother's face. She radiated pure bliss. The newer ones got placed in the Christmas album. The first one held a special place in her heart and she had to fight my dad to put it where she wanted too, hanging over the heart of the house; the fireplace. Dad spent all that year comfort eating, when his baby sister got married, and sported quite the stomach. Mom got her wishes by kissing his ring finger and giving him the famous Swan puppy eyes and he was "sold" as he often described it. He had been sleeping with that picture on my mother's side of the bed ever since we got here, only putting it back when day broke through the curtains. He wanted her to experience every moment of Christmas.
It was only my dad, Wilma and I celebrating Christmas in the cottage this year. Alice, his sister, got re-married a few years earlier to dad's best friend and celebrated Christmas not many miles from here with his family. Emmett, dad's big brother, and his wife Rosalie were spending the holiday at the hospital, waiting for the arrival of their little baby boy.
Coming here was always the obvious choice before mom passed away, nothing else ever up for discussion. Even now, we silently packed our bags and drove off, dad letting out the biggest smile I had seen in a year, finally feeling like he was close to mom again.
I could hear Wilma whimper in her sleep and decided to get some sleep myself. It was Christmas Eve tomorrow after all. I took the Christmas album down from the bookshelf in the living room and after putting my mom's Christmas sweater on I closed my eyes and dreamt of days when smiles and warmth and family was ever present.