The Christmas My Heart Broke in Two

On Christmas Day, 1999, I got a bike. It was purple and it had big mountain tires. I was nine and I was eager to ride down the street on my new shiny ride. It was a fairly balmy day for December in Texas. I put on a light jacket and my brother-in-law and I headed outside to play. We were gone for what felt like only minutes. The temperature was dropping, and my hands started to ice in the breeze. We hopped off the bikes and flung open the living room door. This is where my heart broke in two. 

 

The first thing I remember seeing was someone sitting in a rocking chair. I think it was my oldest sister. She was crying, and I asked what was wrong. Before she could answer, my dad accosted me. In one smooth motion he grabbed me, and set me on his lap. I don't remember looking at his face in that moment. I remember looking out, into the kitchen at my mom and sisters. All I said was, "why is everyone crying?" 

 

 

 It was then that I learned that my granny had died. 

 

Granny had been sick for a while. The details of her illness I don't know because I've never asked. It's still too painful to ask. I know that she left. She moved to our family cabin on the lake around the first of November. I know that she had cancer, and I know that my grandpa did not move to the cabin at the lake with her when she left. 

 

I didn't get to see her as often as I wanted to. At the time, it felt like she had been gone from my grandparents home for a long time. It was all kind of hush-hush, and to this day I've never gotten a straight answer on why she moved out. To be honest, I don't think I want to know. I do know that because she moved to the cabin, we only went to see her a couple of times those last few months. 

 

Sometime at the beginning of that November, we took our new puppy to meet granny at her cabin. My cousins were there, and my aunt and uncles, too. There was a bed in the middle of the cabin, where there used to be couches. Granny was in it. She was smiling her big granny grin as she held out her arms to greet me. I didn't crawl into bed with her, but I wanted to. Instead, I held out a little tiny puppy. "We got a dog, Granny! This is Hannah. She's a poodle."

 

 

The visit was short. And that's all I remember. Well, that and the fact that I never saw her again. 

 

That Christmas morning came just the same as the eight before. We were greeted with my parents' outdated video camera from the 80s. The tree was shining and sparkling. Santa had come. It was magical and wonderful and everything children wish for... and then it wasn't. In a flash the entire magic was sucked from the day, and the days after. 

 

I remember crying myself to sleep for months and months after her death. Sometimes I cried and called out for my mom, but most of the time I didn't. And the truth is, I still do. When it comes to this time of year, or on days that I just miss her, I cry. Now, as an adult and nearly 16 years removed, I find myself doing little things to bring back her memory. I think back to the times we'd sing in the kitchen, or she'd make me a sandwich "with love in it." 

 

I find myself wishing for those days back, but also doing my best to live in the present. Christmas was her very favorite holiday and I know she wants me to enjoy it, so I do. This year I plan to make fudge, peanut brittle, and Martha Washington candies just like she did. I'll sing in the kitchen where we danced all those years ago, but with my nieces and nephews. I'll keep her memory alive, and I will enjoy Christmas Day.