Merry Christmas everyone! I thought that I would share Rebecca’s Christmas Journal with you. She wrote this after the accident. No spoilers… Enjoy!
It’s been a while since I’ve written. I haven’t really felt like it since the accident, but slowly I feel like I’m coming back to life. Some days I resist it, but I still climb out of bed and muddle about. Today, it’s Christmas, and though I feel a little better, the day hangs over me like a dark cloud.
The Christmas packages have all been wrapped, the tree is up, and the house is decorated. Normally, Dad would get up early, make coffee and pancakes, and then gently wake us up with Bing Crosby singing Christmas carols. I smell the coffee brewing and the sky is just starting to lighten. Soon, Mom will be up, and it will be time to open presents. It doesn’t feel like Christmas this year, not with Tommy gone and with the gift of music stripped from my life. I can’t hear anything but this incessant hum in my head. But I can imagine Dad bustling about in the kitchen, the droning of Bing Crosby’s smooth, deep voice, with mom humming along. I can imagine the smiles and the gentle back rubs and hugs they give each other as they prepare Christmas breakfast.
For as long as I can remember, we would eat breakfast before opening presents. When I was younger, I wasn’t allowed out of my room until 7. Inevitably, I’d wake up at 5 or 6 anxious to know if Santa had arrived. I’d pace in my room, quietly go to the bathroom, and then tiptoe back before Mom and Dad knew I was up. I’d lament their silly traditions of making coffee, listening to Christmas music, and forcing me to eat breakfast before I could unwrap presents…despite the fact that I could have my Christmas stocking while they cooked. Later, I appreciated the tradition and loved waking up to gentle Christmas music and the smell of coffee. I loved sitting at the table watching their intimate taps and loving gestures. I wondered if this year things would be different. I suppose Mom will want to keep things the same to provide stability in my current turbulent life. She had with the decorations. We put up the tree, decorated the banister, and baked cookies like in years passed. The only difference was the silence. I saw her put on a CD and then after a few minutes, she turned it off. With her hand on the controls, her shoulders rose and fell, and I imagined a deep sigh. She turned to me and smiled while I busied myself with the decorations. This year, no matter how hard we try, things will be different. All I can do is get up and enjoy the things that are the same.