Post by David Randall on Apr 21, 2007 19:42:16 GMT -5
I knew it the moment I woke up. It was that magical morning, Christmas morning. I made my way down the stairs slowly, adjusting my eyes to the many splendid colors of the day. The railings had been carefully adorned with pine green garland, metallic silver berries, tiny dark brown pine cones and shimmering red velvet bows. At the foot of the stairs, in the blue and green marble tile hallway, I could see the antique marble table which was the home to the old familiar felt reindeer dragging a basket full of cards from friends and relatives, all wishing us well and happy holidays. I grinned as I imagined the special room where Christmas would be celebrated. The smell of freshly cut pine would fill the air along with a slightly cooked butterball turkey. A wonderfully decorated Christmas tree, silver angels, little santas, blue bulbs, flashing lights and mom’s favorite; the brightly shining star on top.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs my happiness turned to concern. “Where is everybody,” I thought to myself. I checked the kithchen – nobody. I looked at my watch to check the time. Ten minutes after eight. They should all be up by now. Was I dreaming? I couldn’t think clearly, I thought for a minute that I was dreaming. Did I have the days mixed up? No, couldn’t be, I thought. It was this day, Christmas day, I was sure of it. I opened the door from the kitchen to the family room slowly and then it hit me.
Right there in front of me was the answer that I was not prepared to accept. Not today. I fell to my knees and began to cry as I looked over the hospital bed that had belonged to my mother. A flood of bad memories came over me like a storm as I covered my face with my hands and buried my head in the nearby couch. It had been such a short time that my Dad and I hadn’t even had time to remove the bed, a constant reminder of her death right there in that room. Her life had been cut short by cancer at age fourty-nine.
Every year at Christmas-time my mother would make the holiday so magical that it was practically impossible to duplicate. She was an incredibly unselfish woman, always thinking of others first. She would shop for months ahead of time to find the perfect gifts. She ignored my father’s pleas to try not to spend so much and spoiled the whole family with stacks and stacks of gifts. I was the youngest of three so I was spoiled even more. It was as if my mom could predict the future and was trying to give as much as possible while she still could.
My father lay asleep upstairs. It was just him and me now. My sisters had moved away a few years before and had there own families. I was the last one at home at eighteen. Dad was my worst enemy in those days. We just couldn’t seem to see eye to eye. It got so bad one night that we came to blows. My mother’s dying wish was for us to try and get along together. We both had tried, but it wasn’t always easy. For today, at least, we would call a truce.
I went to make dad some coffee as I slowly wiped the tears from my eyes and sniffed. He was already in the kitchen sitting at the table, hunched over an ash tray, smoking a cigarette and coughing loudly. “Morning son, Merry Christmas.” He said with a smile.
“Merry Christmas, dad.” I replied. “Those things will kill ya! Can I get one?”
Dad handed me a cigarette, “What were you doing in there, son?” he said with concern. He could obviously see that I had been crying. “Are you okay?”
I nodded yes and went about making coffee. He just gave me a half-smile and without saying a word we shared the same empty loneliness and prepared for the first Christmas without mom. There would be no outbursts of laughter, no overwhelming feelings of joy like previous Christmas mornings, but we would do our best. That’s what we had promised each other the night before over several beers. We would try our best to have some fun.
After some terrible tasting coffee, uncomfortable silence, and about four cigarettes each, my dad and I went to the tree to open some presents. My dad was reallly excited as he handed me a big present. It was a big box with santa clause and elves on the paper with a huge silver bow on top.
“Open this one first, son.” He said enthusiastically.
I tore open the paper to reveal a box with a state of the art car stereo for my pickup truck. I didn’t even think he heard me when I asked him for the stereo several weeks before. It was amazing. He got everything I asked for. Too much. Expensive elaborate gifts. I was completely spoiled again. Present after present were things I really wanted. I smiled for the camera as he snapped shot after shot for each special gift. We were having a blast.
I’ll never forget the incredible feelings I had when I saw happiness on my father’s face for the first time in months. Month after month of worries, caring for my mom as best he could as she lay dying in our living room had made him numb, oblivious to the outside world. He had spent several weeks in shock from her loss. Over twenty years of marriage and now he was alone suddenly. At that moment I wished I could take back every unkind, selfish smart-*ss teen-ager remark I had made to him. He had been through enough. He didn’t deserve it. Despite all that he still went out of his way to make my Christmas special. I was ashamed.
When we finished opening presents we raced over to the fire place like little kids. Dad flipped on the radio to listen to some holiday carols and did a little jig to Jingle Bells. We laughed hard. We then carefully removed our stockings to inspect their contents.
“Let’s see what Santa brought us!” Dad said with a chuckle.
I carefully turned back the rim of the stocking to reveal a long card with a hole – a money card. My dad was very succesful in business and so every year all of us kids would receive a nice cash gift of about twenty or thirty dollars so we could pick out something for ourselves. It was my mom’s idea, of course. I opened the card quickly and out spilled five crisp, green one-hundred dollar bills. My eyes bulged open wide as I stared at Ben Franklin’s face.
My dad, seeing my stunned reaction explained, “I wanted to make it special for you, son. Just like Mom…just like mom did.”
I wiped a tear away as I looked at my dad. “Dad…”
My dad’s eyes began to swell as a tear ran down his cheek, “I know that I can’t do things the way your mom used to, son. But, I would like to try and get along with you again. For mom’s sake, I think we should try. I love you, son.”
I nodded in agreement, speechless and my dad opened his arms for a hug. How could I refuse? It didn’t have anything to do with the money. I didn’t care about that, It was because he had tried so hard to do things like mom would.
My father and I hadn’t hugged for years. He used to be my hero and I wanted to grow up to be just like him. I wondered what went wrong as I quickly wrapped my arms around him and gave him the warmest, best hug I could muster up. It was turning out to be the best Christmas ever. My mother’s favorite Christmas carol, Silent Night, began to play on the radio as we embraced for a long time. I remember feeling not just my father’s hands on my back, but another familiar feminine presence gripping me slightly to let me know she was there.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs my happiness turned to concern. “Where is everybody,” I thought to myself. I checked the kithchen – nobody. I looked at my watch to check the time. Ten minutes after eight. They should all be up by now. Was I dreaming? I couldn’t think clearly, I thought for a minute that I was dreaming. Did I have the days mixed up? No, couldn’t be, I thought. It was this day, Christmas day, I was sure of it. I opened the door from the kitchen to the family room slowly and then it hit me.
Right there in front of me was the answer that I was not prepared to accept. Not today. I fell to my knees and began to cry as I looked over the hospital bed that had belonged to my mother. A flood of bad memories came over me like a storm as I covered my face with my hands and buried my head in the nearby couch. It had been such a short time that my Dad and I hadn’t even had time to remove the bed, a constant reminder of her death right there in that room. Her life had been cut short by cancer at age fourty-nine.
Every year at Christmas-time my mother would make the holiday so magical that it was practically impossible to duplicate. She was an incredibly unselfish woman, always thinking of others first. She would shop for months ahead of time to find the perfect gifts. She ignored my father’s pleas to try not to spend so much and spoiled the whole family with stacks and stacks of gifts. I was the youngest of three so I was spoiled even more. It was as if my mom could predict the future and was trying to give as much as possible while she still could.
My father lay asleep upstairs. It was just him and me now. My sisters had moved away a few years before and had there own families. I was the last one at home at eighteen. Dad was my worst enemy in those days. We just couldn’t seem to see eye to eye. It got so bad one night that we came to blows. My mother’s dying wish was for us to try and get along together. We both had tried, but it wasn’t always easy. For today, at least, we would call a truce.
I went to make dad some coffee as I slowly wiped the tears from my eyes and sniffed. He was already in the kitchen sitting at the table, hunched over an ash tray, smoking a cigarette and coughing loudly. “Morning son, Merry Christmas.” He said with a smile.
“Merry Christmas, dad.” I replied. “Those things will kill ya! Can I get one?”
Dad handed me a cigarette, “What were you doing in there, son?” he said with concern. He could obviously see that I had been crying. “Are you okay?”
I nodded yes and went about making coffee. He just gave me a half-smile and without saying a word we shared the same empty loneliness and prepared for the first Christmas without mom. There would be no outbursts of laughter, no overwhelming feelings of joy like previous Christmas mornings, but we would do our best. That’s what we had promised each other the night before over several beers. We would try our best to have some fun.
After some terrible tasting coffee, uncomfortable silence, and about four cigarettes each, my dad and I went to the tree to open some presents. My dad was reallly excited as he handed me a big present. It was a big box with santa clause and elves on the paper with a huge silver bow on top.
“Open this one first, son.” He said enthusiastically.
I tore open the paper to reveal a box with a state of the art car stereo for my pickup truck. I didn’t even think he heard me when I asked him for the stereo several weeks before. It was amazing. He got everything I asked for. Too much. Expensive elaborate gifts. I was completely spoiled again. Present after present were things I really wanted. I smiled for the camera as he snapped shot after shot for each special gift. We were having a blast.
I’ll never forget the incredible feelings I had when I saw happiness on my father’s face for the first time in months. Month after month of worries, caring for my mom as best he could as she lay dying in our living room had made him numb, oblivious to the outside world. He had spent several weeks in shock from her loss. Over twenty years of marriage and now he was alone suddenly. At that moment I wished I could take back every unkind, selfish smart-*ss teen-ager remark I had made to him. He had been through enough. He didn’t deserve it. Despite all that he still went out of his way to make my Christmas special. I was ashamed.
When we finished opening presents we raced over to the fire place like little kids. Dad flipped on the radio to listen to some holiday carols and did a little jig to Jingle Bells. We laughed hard. We then carefully removed our stockings to inspect their contents.
“Let’s see what Santa brought us!” Dad said with a chuckle.
I carefully turned back the rim of the stocking to reveal a long card with a hole – a money card. My dad was very succesful in business and so every year all of us kids would receive a nice cash gift of about twenty or thirty dollars so we could pick out something for ourselves. It was my mom’s idea, of course. I opened the card quickly and out spilled five crisp, green one-hundred dollar bills. My eyes bulged open wide as I stared at Ben Franklin’s face.
My dad, seeing my stunned reaction explained, “I wanted to make it special for you, son. Just like Mom…just like mom did.”
I wiped a tear away as I looked at my dad. “Dad…”
My dad’s eyes began to swell as a tear ran down his cheek, “I know that I can’t do things the way your mom used to, son. But, I would like to try and get along with you again. For mom’s sake, I think we should try. I love you, son.”
I nodded in agreement, speechless and my dad opened his arms for a hug. How could I refuse? It didn’t have anything to do with the money. I didn’t care about that, It was because he had tried so hard to do things like mom would.
My father and I hadn’t hugged for years. He used to be my hero and I wanted to grow up to be just like him. I wondered what went wrong as I quickly wrapped my arms around him and gave him the warmest, best hug I could muster up. It was turning out to be the best Christmas ever. My mother’s favorite Christmas carol, Silent Night, began to play on the radio as we embraced for a long time. I remember feeling not just my father’s hands on my back, but another familiar feminine presence gripping me slightly to let me know she was there.
And yes, definately add more description- make it vivid. And like wyve said, autoformatting doesn't work here at novicewriters. I'm going to add spaces in between the paragraphs this time for you, but please do it next time. When you go in to submit a post, there's a little button marked 'preview' you can press. Or you can go back an modify once you've posted. But please make sure it looks allright. Proofreading is very important.
