Another Christmas Story
The Christmas day my brother and I unwrapped happiness
was the same Christmas day our granny cried the afternoon.
Our itchy trigger fingers carried the glistening air rifles to
her north Texas farm where we did not shoot our eyes out
but instead filled a small rabbit full of lead as it trembled
beneath the hedge that ran round the rock house.
We boys then stood on the front porch with trophy in hands
as the truth that lived there walked out. She’d fed that rabbit
for weeks, even named it giving it not only food for the day
but a place in her mind. The toughest woman we knew turned
inside and cried the afternoon. She emerged later, bent over
in her grief, and made us supper as was her way.
For that evening she treated us as strangers, speaking only if
spoken to. The morning after Christmas the body was gone,
it’s blood washed from the porch. Breakfast was on the table.
In time my father’s mother came to love us once again. My brother
and I grew up that Christmas but we much more grew away,
sensing the mercy in keeping some things to ourselves.
I’ve been reading your work for months and thought it was time to let you know how much I appreciate your writing. Thank you for keeping on keeping on.
Hi, Elizabeth. Thank you so much for taking the time to comment.
Some lessons are learned through small and poignant tragedies. This one pierced my heart.
Susan, yes…hopefully we learn and live.
Your “Another Christmas Story” really brought back memories. It is amazing — and my four brothers and I are blessed — that we escaped those years with two good eyes still in each head. Our weapons were bows and arrows. I am shaking my head as I write, remembering our youthful daring and foolishness. But, boy was it fun!!
Thanks and have a wonderful 2014!!
Thank you, Lindsay.
Such a sad story. And so beautifully said.
Hi, Annie. Thank you!
This got to me. I don’t know if it’s a story from your life or your mind, or both, but it’s visceral, hard.
“She’d fed that rabbit for weeks, not only giving it food but a place in her mind…she emerged bent over in grief.” Such a powerful story in so few words.
Maybe it’s just the place I’m in, but picturing that scene, the pain on her face, the puzzlement and shock of the boys at her reaction…the heavy silence at dinner, shame meeting sorrow over the table, it was tough and it’s been hard to shake.
Leah, this one’s straight outta my life. Granny is the grandmother who just died…she’s been on my mind.
Death has been weighing heavy here too. “Death is the old crow’s brazen walk around the carcass on the shoulder, its beak red with yesterday.” You wrote that days after my friend’s son died and I’ll never forget it. The crow doesn’t win, and we’ll see the ones we’ve lost again, but some days that doesn’t assuage our longing for them in the here and now. I’m so sorry John.
This one just makes me ache. For two young boys and for a tired granny, who knew how to love well. So sorry for your loss. But more than that, grateful for who she was — as much as you’ve given us glimpses to see. And so glad she loved you again (and, of course, always)