| It is the night of Christmas Eve, and I lay on the couch in a dim, empty, living room. The blaze that fills the fireplace is a comfortable size, not roaring, nor dwindling. Despite the season, there are no stockings hung with care. This year, as the year before, the mantle is bare. Strains of traditional carols subtly find their way to my conscious mind. It listens, and discards most as they filter through, saving few to ponder. "Bless all the dear children in Thy tender care; And fit us for Heaven, to live with Thee there." At a time of year when most individuals are granted an abundance - of good cheer, gifts, warmth, love, family - and faced with everything they possess, I find that I am confronted only with all that I have lost. As I stare into the flames, glancing to my right at the portrait of my brother in uniform (hanging at his height of 6 feet 4 inches), a switch is suddenly and inexplicably flipped. Silently grateful for the box of tissues that has found its way to the couch where I now lay, tears fill my eyes and I begin to cry. I long for a Christmas when I am able to be excited and joyful once more. A Christmas that is approached with happiness and anticipation, instead of with fear and dread. I know that when I have children that will be the case, and perhaps it is selfish, but I want to be happy for Christmas for my own sake, not only for someone else's. I wonder, not for the first time, if animals have a sixth sense about humans and their emotional and physical well being. Pets seem to appear, and occasionally even stick around when their owners are not in peak condition. I find this to be true once more as our youngest cat joins me on the couch to watch the fire. For a moment we are transfixed by the light and shadow as they dance together. Then, she curls up under my arm with her head and a paw resting peacefully on my chest. A small comfort is found briefly tonight, in the form of a cat. At least, until a door is opened and she startles into action, leaping off the couch and moving away in search of the culprit. I see this as symbolism of life, but perhaps it is only a symbolism of mine, as of now. Any moment of comfort or peace, becomes a moment past. It is fleeting, as are most feelings of happiness or pleasure, most ideals of positivity. And again, I am left saddened by reality on Christmas Eve. "Someday," I whisper to the empty room. Someday, Christmas will be more to me than a reminder of things and people lost. |
