with dark hair. The coat I watch him model hangs
in the closet. My hair's so long, uncolored. The girls,
one teen, one tween, yawning unembarrassed and unadorned.
Oldest son serious, apprises each gift with care as grandmother records it for posterity on a videocamera the size of a purse. One grandfather sits nearby, chatting as he does, taking it all in; his sight is gone, and he only listens as we watch today. My mother looks so strong, so young; where's Daddy? Sick perhaps? A cat - which one was that? - climbs up the couch, dodging wrapping paper in its path. Youngest child, precious boy, frozen on the screen at the age of ten or so, plays Santa with the gifts before he sits onto the floor beside his aunt, flashes an eternal smile.
He'd be 28 today, bringing a girlfriend to meet us, or with arms full of presents or kids while grinning wife carries in a covered dish. He'd wrap me
up inside a hug, the same one I remember. We watched him
on the tape today, freckled child who couldn't know he'd leave
us robbed of all his gifts. No tears today. We held it in,
enjoying the moment. Family mostly gone as the sun sinks
low, scattered to their homes, food put up to reheat later.
No one sees the tears now, except my much-missed son.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012
We had such a happy time today, and although it wasn't planned, I'd come across a dvd labeled "Christmas" that I'd copied from one of Mom's old videos years ago. While we sat around eating, I put it on, and we wondered if we'd all start crying as we saw Adam as a child again, smiling and moving and talking as we all wish he were here to do among us. But we didn't cry at all, just sort of drank it in together. It was a gift, just to see him for a few minutes.
No comments:
Post a Comment