Memories

Christmas conjures up so many memories good, bad, ugly, beautiful, and hopeful. It's like potato chips--you keep hoping they will be as great as the first one.

For me, Christmas is Toyland in my front room when I was a child and then again for my children. It's the look on the face of my lover when he receives the present from my heart and knows it is my heart. It's the pure, unadulterated joy on my children's faces on Christmas morning even though they think some fat man in red suit brought them the presents and not me and my husband.

But Christmas is also that day I now watch in envy the joy of others. It's loneliness and wishful thinking. It's a memory that I try to keep buried. Nine years on December 23rd my husband died. I found his body. I had to tell my children. Like a ghost of Christmas past, the memory haunts me every year at this time.

Last December 23rd I was so full of hope. I spent it with a man whom I loved, the first one I have loved since my husband. It was wonderful. We watched "Love Actually," a chick flick, I know. It's one of my favorite movies. I gave him presents that cost little but were all heartfelt. I saw that look in his eyes. And then--nothing. I knew it in my soul even before New Year's Eve even though I tried to quiet the thought. Now he is out of my life too.

So this Christmas I will rewarm the good memories and put the bad ones on ice and continue to pray and hope for better ones because that is what I do.