A Box of Weeds

Missing Mom

“What do you want for Christmas?” The sweet voice rang out in the midst of a familiar dream. I knew what I would say, even before the apparition asked the question.

“I want you.” I burst into tears then as memories of her shrunken body in the oversized hospital bed, her skin almost as pale as the crisp sheets beneath her. In this dream, however, she was radiant, wearing a red sparkly sweater with white snowflakes embroidered on it. The sickness hadn’t invaded her yet.

But it would…

She laughed at me with childlike amusement. “You have me, silly. You always will.” She ruffled my hair, cut in the ridiculous pageboy that she insisted would look adorable.

The dream faded to black, the sweet woman, my mother, a smiling memory.

Awake, I noticed my son had invaded my bed, snuggling so close to me that I teetered on the edge.

My face contorted into an ugly combination of a smile and a cry. He needed me. I would only get my Christmas wish, by giving him the one I could never have again.

To be the same sort of mother that I yearned for.

Merry Christmas in heaven, mom.