Christmas Past

Miss Mettie was cheerful. She lived in an ancient house in the middle of a clearing that was reached through the woods on a rough dirt drive over red clay washes. Finished with treatments for a disfiguing tumor, she spent her days with an extended family. "This was Papa's house," she said. Her sister lived in a mobile home on the side of the hill. Mettie didn't like to talk about her illness. Our visits after the routine vital signs and questions about pain, constipation and appetite, ran to reminiscense about the games little girls played long ago and amusement at the antics of her tiny great-grand children. One day, the tiny tot who always gave hugs all around when I visited, insisted "Now hug Kelvin," his great-uncle. Kelvin quickly backed out of the room, horrified at the notion of hugging the woman who was his Mama's nurse.

At Christmas time Mettie had a real balsam Christmas tree, decorated with strings of lights and dozens of peppermint candy canes in the old-time tradition of trees. The light bulbs were hardly visible in the thick branches, unlighted.
"You want me to turn it on? she rasped, her voice altered by the treatments she'd undergone.
She stuck the end of the cord into plug the and 'Silent Night' began to play as the tree blazed with lights. The children and I stood mesmerized at the sight, as the fire crackled in the open fireplace and we thought of Christmases past and future.