untitled book- chapter 2

Ta-thump
December 24, 2006

It is Christmas Eve and Amos is 86 years old. He is surrounded by his family. His daughter Ella is there with her two children and their spouses, with their children in tow. Amos is very old, older than he ever thought he’d live to be. In truth, he is older than he wanted to be, but on this night he feels perfectly content. As he looks around at the dinner table, he sees three generations looking back at him, and he truly feels grateful. In each face, he can see some of himself and some of his wife. He wishes she could be here now, to see what their love had started.
Ella had come early with her husband with the turkey and stuffing, mashed potatoes and yams, the rolls and pickles. Her children Christopher and Catherine came with vegetables and salads, and their children Jacob and Jeremy came with desserts. Amos himself provided the wine, and later Scotch. He never says it out loud, but he is happy when every year at Christmas, his family spends an evening with him. It is the only time his house is filled with laughter and shared joy, the way it was when his daughter was small and Ellen was alive.
Once the supper is finished, his family decorates his tree for him. It is something they enjoy very much, because Amos has the most unusual tree. There are no lights and tinsel, no garland, no glass balls from department stores. Instead home made decorations are pulled out and discussed one at a time, stories are told and tears are shed. This has happened every year for as many years as he has had a family. The only difference is he has a tree that gets stored in his basement during the off season. His great grandson insists it’s called “going green” but it looks the same color as a real one to him. He doesn’t say this though because he has the distinct impression that there’s probably something he hasn’t picked up on. There usually is when it comes to communicating with his great grandchildren.
The first decoration pulled out of it’s box is Ella’s first walking shoe, laces still intact. Amos had saved up many pennies to pay for those, but they were worth it. Everyone listens as he quietly tells the story of how he gave them to her all wrapped up in a box, and how at two she refused to take them off even to sleep she loved them so much. When the story is finished, the shoe is lovingly placed on the tree.
Other decorations follow suit. A laminated picture of his wedding to Ellen, a story that doesn’t get told. The picture itself speaks louder than words. His great grandson’s first rattle, the one made of hard plastic that he cracked his cousin over the head with five years ago because he ate the last of the yams with marshmallows. Ella’s first spoon that she could use herself with the metal handle that Amos had bent himself to make it easier to hold. The family always laughs when Amos smiles and says “that was the year she discovered trajectory!”
The bracelet that his granddaughter Catherine wore home from the hospital is lovingly placed near the top of the tree, and her mother tells the story of her birth which is an unremarkable one as far as stories go, but the family does love to hear it. Amos’s first set of car keys gets placed on a particularly sturdy branch where they won’t fall and get lost. A bow that his wife made from Ella’s christening outfit and one from her own wedding dress are hung tenderly, the last by Amos himself.
There is a teaspoon from his daughters honeymoon, and one from his grandchildren’s as well. There are homemade decorations that the children came home from school with. A plastic cup from his great grandson’s first trip to wonderland when he was three. They had taken a photo and put it inside the cup. There are movie and concert ticket stubs from first dates, a corsage from a prom date that turned into a lifetime commitment. A positive pregnancy test result from his granddaughter who went to fertility doctors only to find out she could never conceive. A tiny booty, hand made with love and turned yellow with age. It is the memory of a child who never saw Christmas, but a child remembered every year. An old locket that Amos only vaguely remembers from his childhood, hanging from the neck of a woman who encompassed safety and home.
Post cards, mementos and tokens are slowly brought out of their boxes and each one deserving of it’s rightful spot on the tree. Each year someone brings a new decoration and the whole family, Amos included, will crowd around to hear the story that comes with it, eager for something new. Eager to share in the triumph or experience that comes with the newest addition to the family tree. This year, it is Jacob’s report card and he proudly tells the story of how he improved his grades in school. Jeremy brings in his ribbon from a Judo competition he was in last month, and everyone claps at the end.
The last decoration to be hung on the tree is in a small black velvet box. Nobody opens it, nobody even touches it. Amos knows it is his turn to tell a story and hang a decoration. With a tenderness rarely seen on his old face, Amos reaches down and gently picks up the box, cradling it in his twisted hand as he hobbles to the tree. He removes a gold band, a wedding band tied with string and hangs it on the tree. He says the same thing he always says, only “it’s what she wanted”. Now Amos can sit back down, and look at his tree with his family. It is covered in love, achievements and pride.
The rest of the memory is lost to Amos, he doesn’t experience the gift opening or the goodbye’s at the end of the night. Amos experiences only what meant the most to him. The last get together with everyone, the last decorating of the tree. The last time his house was filled with love and laughter. It was enough.