This Christmas Hope
'Her wish this Christmas
Was that Christmas would just pass her by
Nothing could reach her
Or answer her questions why
She feels so alone
And she wonders if all hope is gone'
She'll stand in the kitchen, cutting the vegetables as she's done for many years, an attempt to make a good meal for once in her lifetime. A fruitless task maybe, all this work, for 90% of it to be thrown in the trash just like the wrapping paper and cards as another holiday passes.
But she'll need something to pretend things are normal, that this is just another Christmas, and that even through she'll only have one of her sons with her on this most holy of days, everything will be normal.
It will be a lie, but one she'll need to sleep through the long nights.
She'll know it's a sign of weakness, that it's only a form of denial, but she'll be too tired to care. Through the many nights of restless prayer, she'll grasp onto anything to smooth her frayed emotions.
After putting the peppers aside, she'll reach for the onions, wondering why she even bothered to buy them since Zack's the only one to like them, and just as every time before, as her knife tears it to bits, tears shall flow down from her stung eyes.
"You okay, Mom?" Cody will ask, knowing the answer, feeling bad about the question, but called out of habit.
"Yeah, just the onions," she'll say wiping the tears away, glad that for at least this one time, she could hide behind the routine of a normal life.
"Want me to get the rolls out?" he'll ask, noticing a little bit of black forming on top of them.
"Sure, thanks honey."
She'll think of what Christmas once was, of big family gatherings, of arguments with sisters, of comparing the most recent boyfriends with her. She'll remember the time with her mom, talking about kids and work and life while sitting on the porch drinking a couple beers while the kids tore up the basement. She'll wish things could be so simple again, where her biggest worries were that Zack would get his head stuck in the stair case or that Cody's curiosity would find things he shouldn't.
But as the years taught her well, life goes on.
Parents die, siblings move away and move on, children make mistakes, and this Christmas, not even both her sons could make it home.
Her mind will drift to a few short years ago, helping her sister prepare Thanksgiving dinner at the last minute, and the way her sons salvaged the turkey while she and Connie went shopping. Despite all the stress and chaos of the day, she wouldn't trade it for the world.
Especially with the life she lived now.
She'll bring the ham over to the table, trying to stay out of Cody's way while he'll balance everything perfectly, preventing things from burning, or being undercooked. Even though she'll claim this was her dinner, she'll know that Cody will be the one to keep things edible. But on Christmas, she'll want to keep one tradition at least somewhat close to normal.
"Is everything ready?" she'll ask, sure she'll have forgotten something, like the turkey, turning the oven off (or on as she did early this day).
"I think so," Cody will say, sitting down, going over all the dishes, seeing if he'll be able to spot any detail out of place.
After a prayer, the small family will eat; silence filling the air as once more thoughts of what was and what could be shall weigh heavily on them.
"Think he's having a good Christmas?" Cody will finally ask, the silence of the room too much for him. He'll know those weren't the words to say, the words to make things feel right, but the silence will be too much, for any resemblance of a Christmas of old.
"We can only hope," Carey will say, her gaze set to the horizon, heart weeping for her son.
She'll think about the last time she saw him, the day before Christmas, right before visiting hours closed. How she saw in his eyes, the desire to return home, to spend the night in a warm bed with food he'd rather forget instead of being stuck behind cold bars and forced to eat whatever they deemed edible.
She'll remember that call, the start of what she hoped would be a relaxing break from school for her sons and some time off work from her. But no, that call changed it all, a plea for bail, a hardened criminal asking for forgiveness.
Though nothing major, her son wasn't a murderer, merely a kid caught up with the wrong people, partying too much, and arrested for the simple crime of underage drinking and possession of weed. Simple enough, but she'll look back at those eyes, those who dared not fully look her back, and she'll remember all too well the change that came over him.
"Are you worried about him?" Cody will ask, his own panic setting in, horror stories brought on by late night documentaries forcing their way through his mind. He'll tell himself Zack would never be a victim like that, and he'll hope that his brother had the morals to avoid those actions, but he'll remember seeing his mirror image, the drunken, messed up person he had become, and hardly recognize the man beneath the beer.
"Yeah, but he wouldn't want us to be miserable on his account," she'll say taking a bite out of the ham, the food more tasteless than it should be. She'll gaze out the window, to the family afar, states, choices deaths, separating them. Even as she'll pray for their safety, she'll wish she could be with them, one more time, and have one last chance for her family to be a family again, for some things to be left unsaid, for crimes to be forgiven.
But she'll know as well as us all how time keeps going, how life doesn't allow redoes. But she'll hope anyway, reality telling her of the hopelessness of it, but she'll hope for miracles, for a wayward son to find his way home.
Though that's all she'll have, hope.
Hope that life will get better.
Hope that her family can be one again
Hope that broken hearts will just be a faze soon to pass like all the rest.
This Christmas, though a life she'll loathe, she'll hope that the best is still to come, and hope that maybe next year, the joy of the season will fill her small house once more.
And as she watches the flame dance on a candle that gave the room light, she'll hope that light would come, and illuminate the path for the ones in her heart.
'Hope is a candle
A light in the window
Showing the way for
A heart to come home'
The Christmas Hope, Newsong
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A/N: Well, it's Christmas, and while I don't have a ton of stories or one huge story like last year, I had to write something for such a great holiday. It's not my favorite story, and I don't think the future tense came across as well as others, but it's something that I wanted to write after some things happened with my own family. Sometimes we are blinded by reality and only have hope.