my last christmas

I was 12 years old on the morning of December 24, 1993, like I did every year; I awoke exited for the Christmas that would arrive in less than 18 hours. The best holyday of the year was close: it was time to wear new clothes, give and get presents, eat lots of food prepared by my grandmother, gather with the family, sing with them, sit close to the Christmas tree, take lots of pictures. It was truly the best time of the year.
After I took a shower, I became overwhelmed with a bad feeling - suddenly it seemed everything around me was in slow motion, like some short of invisible ghost was absorbing my energy. The phone rang; it was my mother's mother.
Nine years prior to that Christmas, my parents divorced. I was 3 then, and now I stayed with my father during the week and spent every weekend with my mother. My two families remained close, but not close enough to call each other on Christmas.
"Hi grandma! Tomorrow is Christmas," I cheered
"Yes sweetie. Christmas..." she was silent for a moment. “Would you mind giving me your father's office phone number? I need a favor" She said. She spoke quickly, without any emotion... trying to stall her, I said proudly, “I Got you a present. One for mama too- with my own money"
"Just get me your father's phone number, kid. I have no time now"
Was this the sweet old lady I called grandma? I gave her the phone number, and without saying thanks she hung up.
"What a witch" I thought. I remained seated on the chair as if I were waiting for another call. Again, a pain shot through my heart, and I was overwhelmed again by the sadness. To reassure my self, I repeated in my head " It's Christmas, its Christmas....be happy nothing can be wrong today..."
Still sitting by the phone, I was numb and my heart felt squeezed. My mind was blank except for conscious reminders to breathe. The silence of the living room unnerved me, my eyes explored the space. The clock seemed to be running backwards. I tried to breathe deeply but the air was too thick for my tongue.
The phone rang once, twice... slowly I put the interlocutor on my ear, and it was my dad.
"Hi Willa"-that's his nickname for me- "I'm going to be home in one hour. I have to do something and I want you to come with me" He paused. "Why don't you wear that black dress you have? It looks nice on you"
What he was talking about? The black dress? I had bought a white and red one for tonight.
“Dad! What happened? He didn't speak. The silence was tortuous....tortuous sweet silence; it expressed more than a millions of words could have. I knew it was something wrong. "I'm going home, just be ready. Love you" He said, and hangs up.
I called my mother, but she didn't answer. “She must be buying presents at last minute. So typical," I thought.
I did as my father said the fabric of the black dress felt so soft but heavy. I looked at the mirror, I was absent. Someone else was looking back at me. The stranger in the reflection gave me a sad smile; I turned my back to her. I didn't like that person.
My father came home, his eyes bloodshot. The house suddenly seemed too small. There was no air to breathe. My heart started to pound like trying to get out me, a knot in my throat blocked my words; my hands iced cold and grasped each other as if they were holding a secret. I knew something terrible must have happened, but it could not be true. It was Christmas.
"Take a seat" my father said. I sat on the closest chair, but even when sitting my body felt like it was floating. I waited.
"Johana," he said. Johana? He never calls me by my name. Did I do something wrong? “You know your mother was very sick. She was in pain" I took a deep breath. “Do you know what happens when people gets sick?" He asked. I thought back to the last year: in July she had had an operation for an ulcer in her stomach. Two months later, she had to have some kidneys stones removed. It was not big deal, I had thought at the time; she's a strong woman who never complained.
She was so beautiful, even two days earlier when I saw her on her bed, breathing with the help of the oxygen tank next to her. She looked weak, but I had promised to buy her some vitamins so she would get stronger, and to rub her legs so she could relax and stop thinking about the pain that made her cry silently. She looked beautiful even when the shine of her eyes was beginning to dim.
“Do you know what happens when people are sick?" he asked my self softly, looking at me with all the love and compassion the man possessed. Standing there, I could tell he heated himself for giving me a reason to cry. "It’s simple" I said. "They heal."
I couldn't hold it together any longer, and my eyes exploded. I ran to my room to lock my self far away from everyone. I fell on the floor screaming, crying, and feeling so miserable, so small and empty. Why was God punishing me in this way? My eyes searched for the small figure of the Virgin that I prayed every single night with the blind faith of a kid. Now I prayed, begged, for help for my mother. My disappointment became an animal, I grabbed the statue and threw it against the wall, and I watched as small pieces of porcelain shattered to the floor. It deserves it, I thought, looking at the broken virgin. It was a traitor.
After a while my father found the keys to my room, but I wasn't there. In my place was the stranger I'd seen in the mirror earlier in the morning. I wasn't 12 years old any more; I was an old soul.
I looked at the man in front of me- I felt like I should recognize him, but I couldn't. "Why her?" It's Christmas- nothing can be wrong." He ran to hold me in his arms, I recognized his familiar smell but I didn't want it; I wanted my mom.
I'm 12 years old I thought, and now I won't have a mom who will talk with me about my first kiss, or my sweet 15 party, or my graduation. And my marriage and my kids? I need a mom.
It’s not fair; it has to be a bad joke. Why isn't this man laughing? It’s a joke, right?
She had cancer, I learned. She decided to keep it to herself. Nobody knew it, and she died alone, slowly, pretending. That was her, so reserved.
****************************
I stepped into the funeral home, with legs so heavy I could barely make them walk. The people starting at me made me feel as if I were the new attraction at a circus. I want them all to disappear, but they wouldn't. Conscious of each one of my steps, I Walked into the big room, which smelled of flowers and cigarettes, and it was full of people, full of strangers, including those I called my family.
Five more steps and the coffin would be in front of me. I felt a hand on my back. I wanted to run away from the crowd until it was only she and I. five more steps that would confirm that she was gone forever.
Four, three, two, one... "No, she is not dead....she's sleeping" I said to the man now holding my hand. "I’m with you and so is she" he reassured me “Don’t worry, it will be ok."
My heart was beating so fast, but my blood was frozen. Her face looked so peaceful, and I knew then that she was definitely the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen in my life. Her blond hair fell over her shoulders, her skin white like a European doll. But her body was cold, and she seemed like she needed a hug. I stared at her for hours as people came and went, saying to me things I couldn’t register. I didn't care to pay attention to them. What do they know?
lying there was the woman who had taught me to ride a bike, the one who kissed me on my forehead before going to sleep, the one who called me " Little princess" and made funny noises to make me laugh, the one who made me forget about the whole world when I was in her arms, the one who gave me life. She was gone.
It was just my memories and me.
The next day was Christmas, but as my family gathered at my house there was no music or presents or laughter. The burial was scheduled for 4 P.M., and on the way to the cemetery I looked out the car window. I saw Kids in other cars playing with their toys, families laughing, and Christmas lights. I hated them; I hated it all for having the joy that life pulled away from me. I felt as if I'd died with her.
The coffin was closed, the hole deep. It was time to say farewell. Slowly my mother’s bed descended, the sky broke into tears, and the rain drops seemed to sing her a good-bye song. One by one, the people left to go on with their lives.
I fell into my knees. The dirt below me slowly le became mud, the stupid black dress covered in brown. I could no longer see my mother. My tears mingled with the rain. I was cold- not my body but my heart. It was over.
"Do I have any reason to live now?" I asked my self. A firm hand touched my shoulder. It was strong but harmless. I looked at the hand's owner and it was him.
Finally I recognized the male figure that had been with me the whole time as my father. He was the reason I was looking for to stand up and go on. He gave me a white rose to put over my mother's grave. I kissed it.
"I'll see you soon mom," I said to the ground in front of me. "Thanks for choosing the perfect dad for me"