Christmas Eve Visit

This is my WINTER HOLIDAYS STORY CONTEST 2014 entry. Please vote.

*

I didn't always hate the holidays. There was a point in my life when I eagerly anticipated the season of giving and thankfulness, back when I had a family and a reason to be thankful. Now all this Holiday Cheer does is cause me more pain. I walk through the stores and see the decorations and they take me back to a time when my home was full of joy. Every Christmas Eve was the same. There would be a scent of spice in the air when I came home from work. I would be greeted at the door by my adorable daughters running up to hug me. Going into the kitchen to find my wife wearing an elf hat and an apron while she made cookies for the children to leave out for Santa was my favorite memory of her and it would be the memory my mind turned to whenever we argued. It always made me smile. It always made me remember that whatever we were arguing about was a small thing compared to the love we shared.

That's all gone now. I still have the house. It is still decorated for Christmas and always will be. There is a tree in the corner with baubles and lights. Underneath the tree are presents. Garland is strung up and down the stairwell. Stockings are hung by the fireplace that is as cold and dark as my heart. Sitting in my favorite chair I look up on the wall to the painting we had commissioned on our eighth Wedding Anniversary, a portrait of my wife Francis holding our newborn twin daughters Alexis and Amanda. That half Mona Lisa smile haunts me. I used to tease her about it. Usually when she smiled she did it with her whole face. Her mouth would be wide open, teeth flashing, and her eyes would crinkle up. But she hated how it looked in pictures so whenever she posed for a photograph she would wear that half smile. She might have hated her smile but I loved it. I loved her. I still love her.

It was six years ago today that they were taken from me. The house was decorated, the cookies were baked, and the presents were wrapped. I got the call at work. A police detective was telling me to get to the hospital. I remember screaming at him through my tears because he wouldn't tell me what was wrong, who was hurt. My boss and best friend Jerry drove me to the hospital. I was so shaken up he was afraid I wouldn't be able to drive safely. I'm sure he was right. When I got to the hospital I found out what they refused to tell me on the phone. My wife, the love of my life, the person I pledged to love forever was dead. My precious daughters, the ones I was supposed to keep from all harm were gone as well. You aren't supposed to bury your children. No father should have to identify two tiny five year old bodies. No husband should have to identify the shattered remains of his wife.

The accident was a freak thing. A dump truck driver had a stroke and died behind the wheel of his truck. My wife and children were walking down the sidewalk holding hands. Witnesses said that when my wife saw the out of control truck that she gathered the children to her and dove behind a parked car, attempting to shield them with her body. I would expect nothing less from that incredible woman, but a parked car and a mother's love weren't enough to protect them from 15,000 lbs of steel going 40 mph. Everyone was apologetic. The insurance company paid me enough of a settlement to pay off my house and I will never have to work again. Friends and family tried for the first year or two to help me get past it. They wanted me to take down the decorations and try to go on living. Eventually they gave up. They still try to stop by occasionally to check on me but mostly they have given up. I only leave the house when I have to and I don't speak to anyone if at all possible. I stay home in my decorated house day after day and wait to die.

It's Christmas Eve and time for my yearly ritual. I check the twin's room. I can almost see them sleeping peacefully in their beds. We had always made them go to bed early on Christmas Eve because "Santa doesn't come when you're awake!" I check to make sure the presents are piled up nicely. I eat all but one of the cookies sitting out next to the "Thank You for the cookies" note from Santa. I drink all of the glass of milk and then I go to bed.

She comes to me in my dreams every year on Christmas Eve. She cries and begs me to let her go, to start living again. She tells me that it hurts her to watch me suffer. I hold her in my arms and wipe away her tears. I thank her for being my wife, for making my life complete, for being the best mother in the world. I hold her and whisper that I will never let her go, that my love for her will never die. It's the one night of the year that I sleep peacefully, with a smile on my face.