My First Day

"Merry Christmas!" had been said about as many times as I could bear as everyone arrived at our house. For the first time, my family was coming here for lunch.

The early-arriving children had quickly settled in to an adjusted volume level that fell just below the getting yelled at point. I could hear their muted laughs sneaking up from the basement as my brother's belt almost caught the back loop on my jeans. We were squeezing by each other between the table and the bar I was looking over into the kitchen. As my wife walked toward me with the last steaming pot, I noticed she forgot to turn the stove off like my mom did that year she burned the green beans.

I cautiously smiled at my wife on the way by. Glancing down through the steam, I found a strange connection to the beans hiding just under the bubbled surface. I heard the sound of the pot being positioned, clicked off the stove, and then turned to see my family gathered around a table so pregnant with food I knew our bellies would be in labor later. The last of the children were just getting still.

As I took those 4 steps from the stove to stand beside my wife, I knew it was time. Every year, I'd wonder if it would be dad or mom to "say grace" before our Christmas meal. Although her voice over the last few years had sometimes weakened to a whisper, there was still strength to mom's sweetness that would grow goose bumps on the back of my heart, the way her sweet tea did my tongue. She would look at us and smile – the smile that made you feel like there will never be anything wrong again - just before bowing her head to give thanks for the food and her family. She would give thanks for her children who rarely did wrong, her grandchildren who never did wrong, her sister who was faithful, her brother she protected and took care of, and her husband who had never left her side all these years of fighting the cancer. After “Amen”, we’d attack the food like this day would always be like this.

But this year there was no question who was praying.

I closed my eyes, wishing I could still wonder whose voice I'd hear, realizing this would be my first day to hear my dad pray as a single man.