I have never,
ever, been a good sleeper. Even when young I slept very lightly and would
awaken in the silent, early morning hours, my mind busy with my own version of
instant replay. Sometimes I’d tiptoe out of the bedroom I shared with my sister
to curl up on the couch and enjoy a few rare hours of privacy and quiet. If it
was close to Christmas I would plug in the tree lights and that gentle,
multi-colored glow illuminated my thoughts.
When I was nine or ten years old
I was awake but warm in bed when I heard a scrape and muffled thud. I slipped
out from beneath the blanket and met my mom in the hallway. Together, we peeked
into the living room. The Christmas tree had tipped over and ornaments now
decorated the carpet. The two of us quietly pushed the tree straight, tightened
the screws that pressed into the tree trunk to hold it upright, and used a
couple of dishtowels to sop up the water that had spilled from the stand. My
dad, three brothers, and sister slept on.
The silver angel atop the tree
tilted drunkenly to one side as she supervised our efforts. She’d been pulled
sideways by the fall and the weight of her power cord. Mom carefully
straightened our cherished tree topper as I scampered behind the tree to plug in
the cord. Haloed now by faint blue, the angel smiled down at us, her heart
glowing.
That angel is with us still
though a hole now pierces her bodice, the heat from the bulb having melted
through the old plastic decades ago. So the angel has retired. Each year she
briefly supervises my sister’s Christmas decorating efforts when fragile old
ornaments are unwrapped and admired, reminding us of our youth and of our
mother taken from us, too young. The angel’s smile is as sweet as I remember,
yet it was long ago that she plummeted to the carpet and long ago that my mom
died. My tears, though, are as fresh as the day we lost her and the hole in my
heart is as real as the angel’s. It shall never mend.
And now,
with the holiday season upon us, I thought I would share that long-ago
adventure I shared with my mom. In a few days I’ll visit my darling sister.
We’ll hug and weep a little and our love will take flight as we cherish the
memory of our mother’s gentle smile, now the smile of an angel.
A Serenade to Die For by Janet Fogg and
David Jackson
Soliloquy, a 2010 Holt Medallion Award
Winner
10 comments:
What a lovely memory.
Ah, Christmas memories! The sweet ache of them, that hurts even as it comforts. I, too, am a member of a sisterhood of women who lost their mothers far too young. What an absolutely beautiful tribute you've written!
What a wonderful Christmas memory...something to treasure in the years ahead. Thank you for sharing.
What a beautiful memory. Thank you for sharing it with us.
I'm blessed to still have my mom with me and cherish every moment with her now so I can recall those times when she's gone. Thanks for sharing your beautiful memory.
I lost both of my parents when I was relatively young (though possibly not as young as you were) and earlier this year I lost the woman who was like a second mother to me. So your post really touched me. Thank you for sharing a beautiful and heartfelt memory.
My husband has lost both of his parents. Many times he speaks of memories just like this one. Thanks for sharing a piece of your heart!
What a touching memory. I lost my own mother when I was just ten years old, so sadly don't have too many Christmas memories of her, although there are many of My lovely Aunt who brought up my sister and I and is now sadly also with the angels. THank you so much for sharing.
Thank you all so much for your kind comments. It's a rare day when I don't think of my mom. Wishing you all a love-filled holiday season, and countless smiles!!
Beautiful memory, Janet! Having lost my mother a few years ago, I have sweet memories of her to cherish.
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