It’s a week before Christmas
By Jane
Goodhew
It is a week before Christmas and there is so much to do but first, I
shall sit by the tree and remember. Your first steps, your sweet smile, the
laughter in your eyes and the sparkle that shone around you where ever you went.
Life was magical with you in it, and I
wanted so much for you to love me as I loved you and not just because I was
your mother. I had waited so long to have a child of my own but finding the
perfect man was not that simple or easy to do.
I eventually did when I wasn’t
even looking, he walked into the office and as he strode towards me my heart
missed a beat, and I felt as if I would faint.
It sounds far fetched and straight out of Mills & Boon but that was
how it was. From that day forth he was mine and I was his. We were married
within a year and by the end of the next, Sebastian our son you were born. You was
perfect as perfect could be in every way and rarely cried, so life was bliss.
We had moved into a cottage in the village and the garden seemed to stretch for
miles with a small lake towards the bottom. Trees grew along the side, so we
were secluded and protected from the rest of the world. It was idyllic
especially for the first few years, I had remained at home to be a mother and
wife and keep house. I never thought it would be enough to satisfy me, but it
was, as I learnt to cook and sew and make jams and preserves for the autumn. I
joined the mother and baby club and took you swimming and for walks in the
park. We had it all but that was all about to change.
Your father started staying out later and later until he stopped coming home at all. Whilst we were out, he would return and take his belongings and then he left a note saying we were over. He was sorry but he realised that marital bliss was not for him, and he would leave us the house and enough income to last until you finished full time education and then a small amount to keep me going until I found appropriate work. I sat on the sofa totally stunned by what I read after all we had only been married a few years and we had always seemed so happy together. We didn’t row, we were loving and romantic and had time to ourselves, so it was not all divided between work and being a parent. What had happened to make him just walk away? Perhaps I will never know and a part of me didn’t want to find out, so I didn’t, I just accepted it and got on with life, just you and me.
The years past quickly and you enjoyed school and made many friends
who often came over to play. We built a tree house, and you would spend many
happy hours in the evening playing with your friends and imagining far away
places that you would one day visit. I tried to show you as much of the world
as I could, and we would holiday in a different country every summer and
Christmas. I never liked the idea of Christmas at home just you and me and the
tree. I know you sometimes would have wanted a more traditional time with
family and friends and presents around the 'over decorated' tree, with a plate
left out for Santa. I just couldn’t do it; it was too painful as your father,
and I would be like children with presents and surprises for one another. We laughed and sang and played charades and
Scrabble and occasionally invited the neighbours in for a drink or two.
One year we even threw a New
Years Eve party and had lights all through the garden, it was like a winter wonderland,
and I loved all he did to make our life perfect. If only I had known what the
following year would bring but I didn’t as I had worn rose coloured glasses and
lived in a dream, a fantasy. I had
thought of selling our home once he had made it perfectly clear that he would
never be returning but I didn’t know where I would go, and you were happy here.
Your Grandparents would visit once a year and
bring family photos and videos so we could see what your father was like as a
child. The years blended one into another and your teenage years were filled
with nights out and parties. I hoped you would work harder at school as you
seemed to be an academic rather than a craftsman. Although you did like
painting and music so had piano lessons, but they soon went the way of
everything else and became part of your past. You did enjoy sport, and weekends
were filled with rugby and football and in the summer cricket or tennis. Then
the girls started to call, and you would drive off with the roof down and the
wind in your hair and I wouldn’t see you until late Sunday night.
I guess that just about covers
your life in a nutshell. I look around
the room at the photos of you over the years and the smile on your face the day
you graduated and wanted to get all those moments back. There were no more
moments, no more memories, no photos just letters of condolence and flowers and
mumbling messages left on the answer phone. How sorry they were for my loss.
How tragic that his life had been cut short just as his future was opening up
for him.
All I have now are my memories of life as it once was before that fateful day when you leapt into your car and without a care in the world drove off never to return until the hearse bought you home in a box.
That was a lifetime ago and now there is just me and this rambling old
house filled with memories of you my son and the tears stream down my face when
I realise you will never walk through the door again. You have no tomorrow, you only had your
yesterday and I hope they were happy, that you were and that one day I will see
your smiling face and your sparkling eyes and hear your laughter fill the air once
more. Til then I shall just sit here and
remember a Christmas when life was good and we had fun.
Copyright Jane Goodhew .