December 21

Snow fell in clumps. It looked like confetti, like fake snow. “It’s too heavy to be real,” I thought. My chin rested in my palms, elbows on a cushiony pillow, and stomach on the rug. As The Santa Clause boomed on the TV, Alex and Michelle giggled, but Becca and I didn’t. We just existed there, looking at the fake snow. “They don’t get it,” I thought. “How can they? It’s not their family.”

Becca was quiet as the other girls laughed again. “I wonder if Becca wants to stay too? Probably.” Nancy carried milk and graham crackers into the TV room. “Wow. We are never allowed to eat outside of the kitchen,” Michelle chirped. Becca turned her head and just stared at me, whispering a million wishes to me in one glance.

“Want anything else, girls?” Nancy asked. She was looking at Becca and me. Her eyes were wider than usual and her eyebrows wrinkled. She knelt down and rubbed Becca’s back.

“We’re okay,” I answered for the both of us.

“Yea?”

“Yea. Have you heard from our mom yet?”

“No, sweetie. She hasn’t called yet.”

“Okay.”

Alex and Michelle chuckled at the movie, but Becca and I were silent. “I remember the movie being much funnier,” I mused to myself. The room was warm, warm enough that I could take off the blanket on my back. I sat up, crossed my legs, and reached for a glass of milk. “The graham crackers look good,” I said, but I didn’t eat any. I took another sip of milk, put the glass down, then returned to lying on my stomach, legs stretched out behind me.

Creeeaaak. The front door bellowed. Becca and I looked at each other but didn’t move. Nancy came in a moment later. “Your mom’s here. She’s in the living room.” The knot in my chest that had been there all day suddenly strangled my lungs. I was nauseated. My heart flung against my ribs in a rhythmic beat of panic, quicker and quicker. The thumping started travelling up my throat. Becca and I lifted ourselves from the floor and casually went to meet our mom. She stood there, stuffed like a teddy bear in her winter jacket and hat and scarf, her cheeks bright pink and blotchy, scratched by the wind. “It must be really cold outside,” I realized, so detached that I felt like I was floating. She smiled and scrunched up her face. “That’s what Nancy did before,” I thought as I looked at Mom.

“Come here girls. Let’s sit down.” Mom had only been away for a night, but in that time the world had changed. She put her arms around us and walked over to the sofa. We all sat down and she slowly pulled off her hat, placed it on her lap and tugged at a loose woolen thread. I looked out the window, shocked at how high the snow had piled. I knew what she was about to say, and I wanted to just sit there in silence, realizing it was all over but not hearing her words confirm it.

“Girls, Daddy passed away a few hours ago.” I sat there. My eyes started to burn and I saw Mom's chin start to dimple. I hated seeing her cry. “Uncle Rick and Aunt Gail were there with us. I was right next to him. Aunt Gail told us something funny that happened to her, and we all laughed. Daddy smiled and then he let go. He’s out of pain now, girls.” I wiped my damp face. “He loved you so much.” She paused. I looked up and realized she couldn’t speak because her face was full of tears and sadness. “You’re all he was talking about.” We three sat there, three who didn't know how to be anything other than four.

Just then I realized Uncle Rick was in the room, still wearing his jacket and slouched against the wall with this thumb and forefinger in his eyes.

“Do you girls want to walk home with me?” Mom asked. It was the oddest question. Wouldn't we all want to cling to one another and never be apart again? Wouldn't we all want to go home to our own beds, no more hospitals for Mom or neighbor's futons for us, and figure out how not to crumble to pieces? But at the time the question made sense to us. What exactly do we do now?

“Umm,” we looked at each other. “I wanna stay here tonight.”

“Me too,” Becca breathed.

“Are you sure?” Mom asked.

I had no idea what I wanted to do. “Umm, yea.”

“Ok. I’ll be at home whenever you want to come back. I love you girls so much. I’m so sorry,” Mom croaked while squeezing us tightly. I couldn’t feel anything.

Becca and I stood up, walked past Nancy and Michael, and sunk back into the TV room. Alex pressed the rewind button and I watched the gray lines on the screen. She pressed play and we continued watching the scene we stopped at minutes before.

A few seconds passed before Becca and I turned to each other.

“Wanna go home?” I asked her. I started to feel the weight of my body. I was so tired.

“Yes.” she nodded.

We stood up. “Bye,” I said to Alex and Michelle.

“We’re so sorry,” they whispered.

“Uh-huh,” I uttered.

Becca and I walked out of the room and saw Nancy and Michael sitting at the dining room table. “We’re gonna go home.”

“I’ll walk you home, girls.” Michael smiled faintly with his red, sunken eyes. Nancy stood up and gave me a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, Jo,” she said. Her chest vibrated against my head while she spoke. “We’re always here for you. Always.”

I slid my arms into my snow jacket. It was bulkier than I remembered. I wrapped my scarf closely around my neck and zipped my coat up halfway. “What’s the point,” I thought. “It’s only a few houses away. How cold can it be?”

We left through the front door and marched into a sheet of snow. It fell madly from the sky. I closed my eyes and tilted my head down, walking right behind Michael. Wind slapped my face like sandpaper. Becca followed next to me. The streetlights were caked with snow and the light was gray, the street so quiet. I couldn’t even hear my own footsteps.

We got to our front door, opened it, and began shedding our layers of down and nylon. Mom was there, waiting for our return. The Christmas tree lit up the living room and housed piles of presents. There were hundreds of them. I looked at the tags and quickly realized they were from almost everyone we knew. Over the past month people had left presents, casseroles, cookies, and anything else that might distract us from the fact that Dad now lived in the hospital. Seeing all the gifts sparkle under the blinking bulbs seemed like a huge waste.

I stared at the tree and watched the light show dance on the walls and stairway. The Christmas tree flickered, completely unaware of what had just happened to Dad.

***

I remembered when Dad brought in last year’s tree. He had it on his broad shoulders, carrying it through the door as if he held a prize from a hunting trip. He propped the tree up in the same corner as always, and then secured it into the base. We watched him artfully loosen the branches from the netting and fluff the tree into an amazing sight. As he pulled down one of the branches he whispered, “Ah. Look…what…we…” and continued to reach deep into the thicket, “have… here.” He slowly pulled his arm out of the pine needles and held a perfect little bird’s nest in his hand. It was the size of his wide palm. Becca and I shrieked and scurried over to put our faces up close to the discovered treasure.

“Wow! That’s so cool!” I said marvelled. We touched the little branches that comprised the delicate nest. Mom ran into the room and then she too hovered over the finding. “What a cool bonus to getting the tree,” I thought.

“Did you know that finding a bird’s nest in your Christmas tree means you’ll have good luck for the whole year?” Dad said, in his soft voice. He gave us a smile and opened his eyes wide. I felt the luck already.

***

It is almost fourteen years since that cold night in December and I am now twenty-five. During the time my father was losing his life to cancer, I did not know how my mother, sister, and I would soldier on, but I knew we had to.

It was appropriate for us that he died on the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year, because we were ready to find a sign of light. It was also an appropriate time for him, being in sync with the natural world, that he should leave this earth as the seasons quietly switched acts. December will always be a difficult time for me and each year I continue to feel a sadness wash over me as the first day of winter approaches, but with each year comes more successes, more promise for the future. Although it would be impossible to retrace the steps we took from that day forward, it is those small steps, those choices, those moments of strength that have allowed not the tragedy to define our family, but rather, our endurance and love instead.