Christmas 1999

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but not everything is always as it seems. Every treasured ornament had been strategically placed, telling tales of Christmases past. But this was all for show. The tree was filled with bright white lights; and it, too, seemed to be a façade for no brightness existed within this dark place. There were the carefully positioned family photos along the living room wall and across the mantle. Pictures of happy people, a loving family. But no one was really happy here. We weren’t a loving family anymore, merely a family that was coexisting.

“Mama, cheer up; it’s Christmas,” my daughter called from across the room. Then, running to meet her and their father, my adorable little boy replied, “Yeah, Mommy, smile.”

It was Christmas 1999, and I was noticeably unhappy. I felt guilty and somewhat ashamed for having to fake my way through the holidays, all for show. It was the last Christmas we spent together as a family. Deep down I knew there wouldn’t be anymore; yet, I played along anyway, though not too convincingly. My only source of strength at the time came from the sweet young faces of my children, radiating with excitement brought about by the holiday season. It was their innocence, their natural curiosity, especially during the holidays that I found myself longing to hold onto. You could see their inquisitiveness as they rummaged through the assortment of presents beneath the tree in search of their contents. And just as their curiosity rose, so did my own. I was curious about our new life yet to come; I just didn’t know when it would be.

“Oh look, Mommy, a race track!” His blue eyes were filled with joy that day. “It’s just what I wanted,” my son said as he wrapped his arms around me. Meanwhile, his older sister was busily unwrapping her gifts from Santa too. Both of them happy, both of them unaware. It has always been during these precious moments that life almost seems bearable. I’ll never forget their smiles or the promise I once made that our lives would one day be filled with joy, no more chaos. And just as those two smiling faces are forever branded in my mind, so are the vivid aromas that filled our home on that cold Christmas day. From the smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked cherry strudel to the pine that crackled in the fireplace and the vanilla-scented candles that burned above. Although I knew the marriage was over and had been for quite some time, for the kids’ sake I managed to keep up appearances, setting the mood for a relaxing family day.

“Can we go outside?” the kids had both asked. They were dying to wear the new boots Santa brought them. We had gotten each of them a pair of insulated rubber boots to keep their feet warm and dry throughout the winter months to follow. Even though our winters are typically mild, they are also very unpredictable. The weather had called for snow the night before; we only got flurries. Nonetheless, it was cold, and I knew the kids would be in need of something cozy to wear when they were outside playing.

“Yes,” I said. “But please keep an eye on your little brother, Leslie. I don’t want him tripping over his feet in those new boots.” Our daughter, a bright blue-eyed blonde like her brother, was wise beyond her years. At only ten years old, I sometimes got the impression that she was an adult trapped inside a child’s body. Unfortunately, I knew I was partly to blame for this. She experienced far more adult drama in her short lifetime than she deserved. I trusted in her completely, especially when it came to her brother. At times it seemed she was more of a mother to him than I was. As the years progressed, I sank deeper into the black hole of depression, and it was always Leslie that seemed to pick up the fallen pieces of my awful existence.

This day was no different. I knew I could count on her to keep her four-year-old brother safe while they played outdoors. I cleaned up the piles of wrapping paper that were strewn around the room. All the while I kept thinking about getting as far away from this place as possible. After suffering in silence the abuse by his hands for nearly eleven years, I had finally reached the point where enough was enough. I was going to leave. I didn’t know when, only that it would be soon.

“We’re back!” The kids came in as fast as they had went out. “It’s cooold,” my youngest said, his teeth chattering. I quickly fixed them each a cup of hot cocoa with melted marshmallows on top to help warm them up. It didn’t take long before Austin was once again enthralled by his new racetrack, which was now covering most of the living room floor. Leslie, in the meantime, was playing with her new dolls, lost in her own world of make believe, just as I remained lost in mine. It would soon be just the three of us. We would become a happy, loving family in our own right. We wouldn’t have to pretend anymore. It was Christmas 1999, the last holiday we spent together as a family of four.