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The Story:
The only sound in the house was the rustling of his hands through a box of ornaments. They were made of glass, plastic, metal, and wood, but each one was a component in the construction of his memories.
An old candy cane made out of a pipe cleaner with alternating red and white beads slipped over it was the first ornament his daughter had made for him. It was also her last. He hung it on the tree, remembering that nothing lasts forever, but there are always memories to cherish.
The wreath with a picture of him and his wife in the center was a souvenir from the first Christmas they shared together as a married couple. But after their daughter’s death, he never saw his wife again. He hung it on the tree, remembering that people will let you down, but there’s always a way to still love and honor them.
He picked up the last ornament in the box. It was a figurine of a fisherman catching a large fish, waste deep in a river, a fishing partner cheering him on from the embankment. His son gave it to him just before their big fight, nearly four years ago. He hung it on the tree, remembering that the impossible is possible, so hope should never be dismissed.
He heated up a cup of hot cider and sat in a chair beside his decoratively sparse tree. The cup warmed his hands but not his heart, and the silence of the house screamed out what all he had lost. He had memories, love, and hope… but he was alone.
He raised the cider to his lips to drink in his circumstances but was halted by the ringing of a doorbell. The cider sloshed out as he dropped it onto a coaster. Bounding to the door, he flung it open to see who could possibly want to visit him on Christmas Eve. Truthfully, he was expecting to see a group of carolers. But standing in the doorway with a dusting of snow on ragged clothes was his son.
“Merry Christmas… I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so…”
His father yanked him into the house and into his arms. Then, he threw a blanket around him and handed him the cup of hot cider.
“Merry Christmas, my son.”
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