It was 10 minutes after the clock struck twelve. The jingling of bells, the tickling smell of cinnamon wafting through the air, and the impeccable decorations adoring every visible surface of the usually quiet town of Greenville. Listen closely and you might just hear the smile and laughter of everyone, of children singing in the streets, sighs of contentment left and right. They say to celebrate Christmas with a conviction in your heart that miracles do come true. Sometimes, you just have to look for it.
I knew I wasn’t supposed to be quite so excited for the holidays at the mere age of 16 but I couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the season. It doesn’t snow from where I come from but my family decided to spice things up, take it up a notch, and celebrate Christmas in a quaint little town with nothing but trees for miles covered in blankets of snow. We were far from home but we were together and at that moment, nothing else mattered.
Bundled up in mittens and coats, the cider would flow and the warmth drowned everyone in love. Everything was icy and blue and I, over a cup of warm cocoa, finally succumbed to the bubble of happiness that seemed to cocoon everyone without a hint of restraint. I was almost too scared to pop everyone’s bubble, I wasn’t cruel enough to ruin our family’s last Christmas… our last Christmas with Mum. A Christmas that should have been perfect just like the ones that came before, a season where mistakes are forgiven and a time for battles come to an end. Mum’s health was slowly but steadily deteriorating, her body marred with scars, each with a tale of woe, of once upon a time. She fought and fought for so long but her body could no longer store her beautiful and strong spirit and so the dreaded came. My mother lost. She lost the race against time. She surrendered.
When the clock struck twelve, it marked the end of the eve of a new beginning. It was a chance to start over, opportunities to write a beautiful chapter in attempts to save this story, and ending it with a happy ever after. Mum spent her last moments with us, wrapped in our embrace of love and nothing else. I laid my ears upon her heart, her frail and delicate body. She who gave birth to me and brought me into a world of wonders and hopes. I listened to the dying rhythm of her faint heartbeats, “Merry Christmas,” she whispered to all of us, the corners of her lips lifting into a smile, and the music stopped. And as tears trickled down my face, leaving a trail of memories and laughter behind, I too whispered, “Merry Christmas, Mum.”
Mum, I can never imagine a world with you gone. I’m scared and I don’t want to let go, I don’t know what to do anymore. But for you, I will brave through the fears, because you gave me courage, you made me believe, you bred hope within me. You taught me that Christmas is a new morning for the world and a new morning for each one of us. You reminded me that Christmas is a message from above, reminding us that yes we can find love. Yes, we can know mercy. Yes, we can lead a happy life and not just a happy ending. Yes, you are at peace.
Merry Christmas, Mum. Winter love is spreading everywhere, I’ll light up every tree and hang our stockings by the fireplace. You were right. Where there is great love, there are always miracles and Christmas is a season of epic love from all corners of the world.
Wait for me, Mum, I’ll be home for Christmas. I promise.
