merry christmas and happy holidays everyone! first off i hope you all have a wonderful holidays with your families and remember to enjoy yourself and treasure every single moment!
as for this, ive been working on it for about a month now and honestly, it's depressing and significantly sad but heavily reflects what's happened in my own life this year. my nan passed away in august after fighting cancer since being diagnosed in october last year. this is our first holidays without her and it's hard not having her presence constantly around. anyway, writing this was kind of my way of putting everything i feel out in the open even if booth did have to die for it, but the ending is a little happier even if im not completely happy with it, we can't have everything though!
again, happy holidays and i hope everyone likes this, even if it is just an explosion of words on my part! -Megan x
-bones-
That First Christmas Morning:
Shivering, she pulled her coat tighter around her body, snuggled deeper into the scarf wrapped securely around her neck and the bobbled hat resting on her head, hiding the once auburn locks that had long ago turned white. Her hands tucked into matching mittens, the metal of her wedding band cold on her ring finger, and the metal of his cold against her chest where it had rested, unmoved, since the funeral director had handed it to her four months earlier, just as it had resided on his finger, unmoved, since the day she'd slid it on.
She weaved her way towards the spot she and their children had picked for him to rest, where she'd watched as their two sons, two son-in-laws and two eldest grandsons lowered the coffin holding his body into the ground, barely holding herself together as their daughters clutched at her arms, both sobbing quietly, her best friend nearby their two eldest granddaughters clutched to her, everyone's eyes unashamedly wet, including her own.
As they were now, salty tears icy against her rosy cheeks, and she could hear him cursing her, declaring that it was too cold for her to be out, doing as he'd always done since the moment he'd met her, aside from constantly bickering with her; protecting her and loving her.
He'd whispered it to her in the dark their first Christmas morning together, a quiet declaration of love spoken against her neck as he'd nuzzled his face into her hair, his hand nestled between their bodies on the bump that had formed as their daughter had grown. A giggling, bouncy, blonde-haired, ten year old boy had raced into the room not long after, excitedly declaring that Santa had visited, a pile of presents left behind exceeding the boy's height, a slight exaggeration on his part.
She didn't wear the present he bought her that Christmas very often, a delicate silver necklace, hanging from it a heart-shaped pendant, engraved simply with his nickname for her. She recalls the way his face broke out into a smile every time she wore it, no matter how many years had passed. She'd fallen asleep wearing it the night he'd shakily released his last breath beside her in their bed, in their house where their children had grown and the house that their grandchildren had terrorised.
He'd pulled her gently towards him, whispered hoarsely a quiet, final, "I love you", pressed a gentle kiss into her hair where her head rested above his heart, and remained for hours following the last rise and fall of his chest and the final beat of a heart that had loved her from the first moment he'd first met her. It was early morning when she'd finally moved, crying as she called their children, all four arriving within minutes of one another to find her sat with his hand clutched in hers.
When the woman from the funeral company had delicately placed his wedding band in her palm later that day, their four children still at her side, she'd gently removed the necklace and slipped the ring onto it. She hadn't removed it since.
It was her way of keeping him close. As she'd evoked changes in him, he'd done the same to her. She still didn't believe in the afterlife but being able to visit his grave, pretend for seconds, minutes, hours that he was still here with her, it helped. It helped to talk to him, to know the answers and the smile he'd give, and as days had turned to weeks, and weeks had become months, while she missed him more with each passing day she grew used to the emptiness of the house, the quiet and peacefulness after their family had left each night.
However, the arrival of December 1st had hit her hard.
Christmas had been his favourite holiday for as long as she'd known him. Advent calendars, one for each of their children, later one for each of their ten grandchildren, and the year previously a calendar for their eldest granddaughters husband, had been bought weeks in advance. As much as she'd protested, each year without fail, even after their children had gradually moved out, he'd purchased one extra advent calendar, alternating days with her regarding who got to eat the tiny piece of chocolate.
She'd cried for a long time that morning. Just an hour after dragging herself out of their bed she'd found herself stood in front of his grave, finding the answer she'd been searching for. She made the call to her eldest daughter first, who passed on the message, and by that same night the house had been decorated, the tree standing proudly in the corner, decorated with baubles made at school and the ten decorations engraved with the names and birthday's of their grandchildren. Their advent calendar had sat proudly on his nightstand, the first door pealed open and the chocolate gone.
She'd clutched helplessly at her best friend when she'd presented her with the framed, delicately painted words. Their son's had immediately taken it upon themselves to hang the frame, the words displayed for every person to see.
Because someone we love is in heaven there is a little bit of heaven in our home this Christmas.
The words were a reminder of his presence in the house, of the impact he'd had on their lives and the traditions that had continued even after he was gone. Their eldest son had happily taken the job of declaring the excitement of Christmas Eve, waking the children, all crammed into sleeping bags spread out across the living room floor, with an excited shout: "Wakey, wakey, munchkins! It's Christmas Eve day! Both an eve and a day. It's a Christmas miracle!"
She'd woken before the rest of the family this morning. Had stood watching the gentle rise and fall of their chests as all eleven, including her grandson-in-law, slept peacefully, just feet away from the mountain of presents piled beside the back door. Regretfully, disappointed that she'd no doubt miss the excited squeals of her grandchildren upon their discovery, but unable to not visit him on Christmas morning, she'd silently left the house, a minor miracle that everyone had gone undisturbed.
She realised, as she approached his spot, that the only person that would have noticed her leaving was gone. He'd done it the year before, when she'd pulled herself from their bed to use the bathroom and to check on the children, upon returning had found him awake, blinking blearily at her stood in the doorway. He'd called her name and she'd climbed back into bed, snuggling closely to his side, enveloping herself back in the warmth of his arms.
They'd known on some level that it would be their last Christmas together. He grew weaker with everyday that passed, barely able to move some days from the confines of their bed. That last Christmas morning, however, he'd pulled himself from their bed before anyone else had woken. He'd pulled on a Santa hat, delicately placed a matching one on hers, helped her out of bed before they'd made their way into the kitchen. She'd started the coffee pot and he'd turned on the stereo, laughing as he pulled her into his arms. They were dancing and laughing when the first of the adults emerged from the bedrooms, greeted by the excited giggling of grandparents and grandchildren, dancing joyfully around the kitchen,
She recalled that morning, exactly a year earlier, smiling softly as she stood in front of his grave, a double plot where she would eventually be put to rest beside him. Watching, the day after his funeral as all ten of their grandchildren had crowded around the grave and spoke so easily to their grandfather as if he were there with them, she'd made the decision to change her will, and when the time came she'd be returned to his side.
"Merry Christmas, Booth."
She'd mumbled it sleepily to him the previous year, before they'd found themselves dancing in the kitchen surrounded by their family. New year had been spent a similar way, with all of them together, the two of them with the small piece of knowledge that it would be their last side by side but refusing to admit the fact.
As the year had progressed hospital trips had grown more frequent, until that fateful morning in the first week of August when he'd taken his final breath following a whispered declaration of love to the only woman he had ever truly loved, the mother to his children, the grandmother to his grandchildren, his partner, his Bones.
"I miss you so much, every single day it hurts— it hurts not waking up beside you."
And it did, hurt more than she'd ever known and she'd found herself wishing in the last several months that they'd have given into each other sooner, just so they could have had those few extra years together, but in her heart she knew she'd never change a thing that had happened between them. It had all gotten them where they'd wanted to be: together and with a family.
"Everyone was still sleeping when I left, although it's almost seven so I suppose they won't be for much longer. I'm pretty sure the mountain of presents has grown bigger this year, Booth. It took Parker, Henry, Michael and Calum almost 10 minutes to bring them all in from the garage, and then we had to pile them all up without waking the children. It was quite entertaining."
She smiled, recalling the previous night and how she'd held back her laughter as their children attempted to balance the presents together into one mountain of bows and wrapping paper.
"I made sure to fill everyone's stockings, and I put them out after everyone had gone to bed, and you will be pleased to know that I have gotten better at being quiet around the house while everyone is sleeping."
They'd started the tradition together as their children had grown and gotten married, making beautiful babies of their own. It had started out with ten stockings, each engraved with a name, one for each of their children and their spouses, and one for each other. At each babies first Christmas a new stocking would almost magically appear on Christmas morning, delicately engraved with the babies name, until eventually they had nineteen stockings to fill, as well as their stocking for each other, engraved playfully with Booth and Mrs Booth, a title she now treasured more than any other time in her life.
She smiled, clutching the red stocking, trimmed delicately with white fabric and engraved with his name. Leaning down she propped it against the stone, half blank where their families words for her would one day be written.
"I got you beef jerky, and that chocolate you always liked so much, and double stuffed Oreos even though they're terrible for you and the children who will probably end up eating them anyway because I am going nowhere near them."
He'd coaxed her into eating one once. Half an hour later the packet had been empty, sat in front of them on the kitchen counter amongst two empty mugs of coffee. Naturally, she'd punched his arm playfully, declared that in the New Year they were joining a gym together and that was that.
She lost track of time, standing in front of his grave, reading the words she had long ago memorised.
Treasured memories of Seeley Joseph Booth. November 12th 1971–August 3rd 2059. A forever dedicated husband, father, and grandfather, partner and friend.
And delicately engraved into the base of the grey stone, the words from the bible that had been framed on their bedroom wall since his release from prison, the words she hadn't hesitated to have written about them.
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails. [Corinthians 13:7-8]
They'd been through so much, too much, even before they'd met, but they'd found strength in one another, had always been stronger when they were together.
"Irrationally, I sometimes find myself mad at you for breaking your promise. You said you'd never leave me, and— we both knew, and I'd prepared myself for the inevitability of your death a long time ago, before we were even together. Our jobs meant we were constantly in danger, and I almost— I almost lost you so many times but we got to grow old together, Booth. We got our thirty, forty, almost fifty years. We have ten beautiful grandchildren, and they miss you so much, and everyone tries to help but I'm so lost without you sometimes. Sweets said, we're both parts of a whole— I'm not complete without you, Seeley. I miss you, and I love you, nothing will ever change that, okay?"
She stood in silence for several minutes, preparing herself for the return home without him when several high pitched voices rang out across the mostly silent cemetery.
"Nanny!"
Turning, her tears fell harder as she smiled widely, the crowd of their family separating as the youngest Booth ran towards her. Laughing, she scooped the four year old up into her arms once he was close enough, pressing a kiss to his rosy cheek and nuzzling her face into his hair.
"Merry Christmas, Mom." Henry was the first to reach her, wrapping a secure arm around her and his nephew, as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. She laughed as the rest of their family finally reached where she stood.
"Are you all wearing pyjamas?"
"We kind of panicked when you weren't there." Addison explained softly, plucking her son from his grandmothers arms, settling him into the snow.
"Mommy, look! Santa came to Grandpa, too!"
As their grandchildren inspected the stocking resting in the snow, she was passed around their children, enveloped tightly in hugs. She was tucked closely into Michael's side when Christine spoke, brushing at her own tears.
"You filled everyone's stockings."
"Your father and I tell you every year that Santa fills your stockings."
"Nan?"
Clutched closely to the side of her husband, the proud owner of the newest stocking, Amber spoke before her mother could retort the existence of Father Christmas. Turning to find her eldest granddaughter grinning widely, the Booth smile painted across her features, she couldn't help but smile as the blonde continued.
"How would you feel about filling another stocking next year?"
Her words ended in a giggle, followed by a laugh from her husband, before both were pulled into hugs of congratulations, complete with spilt tears and grins threatening to break everyone's faces in two. As everyone recovered, recollecting themselves and gathering the children together, beginning the walk back towards the parking lot, she remained standing in front of him, unable to contain her smile.
"You okay, great-grandma Bones?"
Turning to find Parker several paces behind her she laughed, retrieved Booth's stocking from the snowy grass, delivered a whispered "Merry Christmas, I love you" before moving towards their oldest son.
"You're too much like him."
"And you wouldn't have it any other way."
The comment came with a tug on her arm as he pulled her against his side, following the crowd of their family along the path, one obvious presence missing but another beautifully taking his place.
"Well—"
"Woah!"
"Horse!"
"Wait— what?"
"Nothing. Merry Christmas, Parker."
"Merry Christmas, Bones."