The First Christmas

THE FIRST CHRISTMAS

Patrice leaned on the counter in her tiny kitchen. The light was dim, which suited her mood. Everything she needed was out on the counter; the mixer, the recipe, butter, flour, sugar…everything. Everything was there but her mom. Tears blinded Patrice’s eyes as she picked up the old, stained recipe for her mother’s special Christmas cookies. “Louisa’s Christmas Delights… Patrice had baked these cookies many times with her mom in her childhood home, music playing, wine flowing. She had always been the one to help with the holiday baking. And now her siblings were looking to Patrice to bring the cherished cookies to the first Christmas without their mother.

Memories washed over Patrice as she stared at the counter top. She could see her mom smiling and could hear her voice, “Don’t let that butter get too soft, Treese. There is a perfect temp and you just can’t miss that window.” She could see her mom’s confident movement around the kitchen. So familiar, so comforting. Patrice felt like a fish out of water without being able to lean on her mom.

“I can do this,” she thought to herself, “but I need wine first.” Patrice opened a bottle of her mother’s favorite chardonnay. Louisa had been a teetotaler. Patrice and her siblings had teased Lou nonstop about how she could “smell the cork” and be tipsy. Lou always wanted to participate in the party. This thought brought a smile to Patrice’s face. She picked up the bottle and grabbed a plastic wine glass and headed to the deck. It was chilly, but it was where she wanted to be. Patrice sank into her mom’s favorite deck chair and wrapped herself in her mother’s blanket. After Lou passed, those were the only two things Patrice had wanted. She had shared so many moments on her mom’s deck, talking, laughing. Eating chicken salad sandwiches and drinking diet coke, joking about how stale Lou’s ice always tasted. Patrice took a long drink of her wine and closed her eyes. The cookies could wait.

Patrice let her mind travel back over the last few months. Mom had started losing weight. She had always carried a few extra pounds, so she was delighted, and at first the family had been cheering her on. Then Lou kept getting thinner and more frail, and Patrice knew that something was not right. Louisa kept on smiling and doing everything she always did. She bought new clothes and wanted everyone to celebrate with her. Then came that first doctor’s appointment. Lou went by herself, as always, but called Patrice when she got home. “Treece, I need you,” she had said. Those were unfamiliar words coming from Louisa. Patrice had dropped what she was doing and sped to her childhood home.

Louisa was sitting on the deck when Patrice arrived. She was covered in her blanket and smiled sadly at Patrice. “Well, my love,” she had said, “That appointment did not go so well.” Patrice sat in silence and let her mother talk. “I’m going to beat this, you know I will.” Lou had looked up at Patrice with shimmering eyes. “Guess, they found a little cancer in my colon.” Patrice still sat in silence, unable to speak or breathe. “Looks like this new body of mine is a result of some stuff going on in my gut.” She had shaken her head, as if to clear her mind. “Guess being a chubby, old lady wasn’t such a bad thing.” Patrice had reached for her mother’s hand. “We’ll figure it out, Mom.. No stinkin’ cancer would be brave enough to try to win against you!!” The two women had sat in silence for a long time that afternoon.

But the stinkin’ cancer had won. Two months later, Patrice and her siblings sat by their mother’s side as she had taken her last breath. Patrice had been stoic and had tried to be there for the rest of the family. Nothing could have prepared any of them for the level of grief they all felt. And too soon, it was the holiday season. Patrice was determined to do her part in making the holiday as good as it could be. That is what her mother would have wanted.

So here she was, wrapped in Lou’s blanket, sitting in her chair, drinking her favorite wine. And she was paralyzed. Patrice had barely cried, until now. This moment. She had no control over the tears now. She sobbed until she was completely exhausted and allowed herself to drift off. The sun went down, as did the temperature, but she could not move. Feeling a bit hazy from the wine and limp from grief, Patrice suddenly felt a rush of warmth through her body. She could hear her mother’s voice, “Treece, get up and live your life, my love. Don't’ bake the damn cookies if you don’t want to. I’m okay. I’m just fine and I love you.”

Patrice shook her head and sat up. Had she been dreaming? Surely she had been dreaming. But she felt good. She felt warm and comforted. Her mother had come to visit. She felt it in her heart. The chilly night air finally began to penetrate Patrice’s body and she stood up. From the deck she could see her mother in the kitchen, smiling and going about the business of making cookies. Patrice wrapped the blanket around her tightly and walked silently back into the house. The light in the kitchen seemed a little bit brighter and the old recipe was right there in front of her. She could still feel the warmth of her mother in her heart and radiating through her whole body. The blanket still on her shoulders still smelled like Lou. Patrice folded the blanket carefully and plugged in the mixer. The butter was the perfect temp.