Your head is nestled on your pillow. The christmas lights dance softly across your cheek. You're almost six now, and you have the biggest belief in Santa. Every year I watched you sneak out of your room to wait for him. It was so fun helping him arrive and sneaking around you without waking you up. Not that much would wake you up. You had the childhood gift of sleeping like a rock.

The heater twists and moans its way to face you again, the little red light an all-seeing, all-sensing eye to watch over you. You must have turned it on when you came out or--no. Your brother is asleep on the couch behind you. He must have turned it on for you. Silly boy forgot a blanket for himself. At nine, he's already becoming a little man...I've missed so much...

The tree is lit up with every color light imaginable, and your handmade ornaments hang from every branch. The little clothes pin reindeer, the plaster handprints, the handpainted balls...even your favorite bead snowflake. You are so proud of that snowflake, and it's the most beautiful snowflake I've ever seen. Even if one side is a little bigger than the other, and if your brother teases you about the two blue beads and one green bead. I remember telling him to leave you alone. Snowflakes come in all shapes and sizes, just like people. You like that idea. You told me that your class was like a snowflake, and maybe this blue bead could be your friend Jasmine, and this one Emily, and the green one was definately Ralph. When I asked you why, you said because Ralph was just green. He just was. Perfect logic for a then-five-year-old. You made it last year and told me that maybe the people I saw were like your snowflake. They were just different, weraing towels on their heads. You pointed to the blue beads and said they were just a different color. They were. Wisdom out of the mouth of babes. I love that snowflake so much...

Above your head, your stockings hang on the fireplace. They go in order: mine, your mother's, your brother's, yours, and Pup-pup's. She's snoring in the corner just a little bit away from you. I never realized how gray she was getting...she must be coming up on eleven or twelve years now. Your mother's already gotten to the stockings it looks like. You two's stockings are about bursting. I can see the top of a hot wheels car box in your brothers. I hope it's a mustang. He always wanted a mustang. Black, with red flames. I promised to buy him one when he graduated. And I see the tip of a black nose. It looks like that toy you wanted. What was it...a snoozie, or a snuggie... No, that's those Jedi robe things I've seen on tv. It is some little toy you can pretend to feed and play with. That will help poor Pup-pup. You really are sweet to try and braid her hair, but I don't think she likes it. I watch her sleeping, her paws twitching as she chases some rabbit in her dreams. She gives one loud snore and wakes herself up. Those brown eyes blink once or twice and look in my direction, and her tail give one single thump to let me know she sees me. It almost overwhelms me... I haven't given her the attention she deserves.

The heater blows across you again, and you shift. A part of me worries about the fire hazard and the elecric bill, but at least you are warm. The christmas tree flickers once and then goes off. I guess your mother finally figured out how to work the timer. Piece of junk...I think your grandfather gave that to us for our first christmas ten years ago. He probably got a new one and figured that we couldn't afford to refuse it. He was right. But I'll bet his new one broke, while this one's still chugging along. Unlike half the other things I promise your mother I'll fix, whenever I got back. I should have done that before I left... maybe your brother can help her now. God knows I'll never get to it.

The moonlight dusts your cheeks, turning them a pale, pale pink. I wish I could turn off that heater. You look too warm. Your brother snorts in his sleep and rolls over, rubbing the little trace of drool sleepily off his face. A sound catches my ear and I turn to see your mother with an armful of gifts. Slowly, she tiptoes around you and lowers them to the ground. I can just make out "From Santa" on the tops. The paper makes me smile. Santa dances across the top and sides with a cheerful Rudolph, and I can't help but wonder for the hundredth time: why did they ever give that stupid deer the name Rudolph? I would have made fun of him too. Santa was very nice for letting a red-nosed reindeer with a weird name guide his sleigh. But then, he was the big man. He knows everything. Just like he knows how good your mother always is around this time of year. Look at those gifts! He knew she'd be the perfect helper. I always thought she was queen of the Nice List. Ah, she's found a blanket for your brother. That's good. That's good...

Just before she heads back to our room, she pulls something out of her pocket. They swing lazily back and forth from a silvery chain, the black edges swallowing the light. The etchings catch moonbeams and the letters stand out, bright silver and heavy. A tear falls, silent, down her face and my heart breaks. Her free hand grabs the tags and brings them to her lips, another tear slipping down. Then, she slips them onto a tree branch just above your head and heads back to bed. Alone. My heart aches.

I wish I could follow her. I wish I could brush that little strand of hair off your forehead. I wish I could pull the blanket up on your brother. But I can't. This is my first Christmas away. This is my last Christmas here. In the morning, I'll be gone, and my dog tags will be all that is left, but I got my Christmas wish. You are safe. I got to see you one last time, before I go. Know I will always be with you. Know Daddy loves you. Merry Christmas baby girl. Good night. Good-bye.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 26.01.2010

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