Christmas Alone


                              Copyright by Joesephus

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Synopsis: He loved his wife of 28 years with every molecule of his
being. Now six months after she died, can anyone stop his slide into
irreversible depression? Is a very special lady's visit on Christmas
morn a forlorn hope?


This story was written with MS Word.  I used things like bold and italics
to make dialogue more understandable.  Those were lost when I converted 
this to TXT format.  If you wish to read the version with the formats
You can find them posted on other sites.  I would suggest you search 
for the title and Joesephus.

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We were only married 28 years, not even a blink of the cosmic eye. Our
wedding did seem like yesterday, until she died last July. Each day of
the last six months has seemed an eternity plus a month of Sundays.
Melanoma, caused by her love to suntan killed her, but not before I had
to watch her beautiful face eaten away. The last time I was able to
watch her dressings changed, I saw her molars and her naked jawbone. I
know Ginny's with the Lord. As the old expression goes, we both did our
time in hell. But mine endures, when she died, my soul was sundered. So
intertwined were we, that the 'me' I was, doesn't exist anymore.

I know that life continued, I ate, slept, I went to work, watched TV, I
even went to my beloved Texas home football games down in Austin. But if
I didn't have the ticket stubs, I would swear I hadn't even watched them
on TV.

I know I visited with friends and that family came to see me. But for
the last six months, I retreated into a deep place where light has
never been. If only, if only suicide wasn't a mortal sin--but like that
old 60s song Last Kiss.

"She's gone to heaven so I got to be good

So I can see my baby when I leave this world."

Tonight is Christmas Eve, and I don't know how I'm going to make it
through tomorrow. I've just returned from our midnight candlelight
service at church. As we sang endless Christmas carols, something
shattered. When my little candle was lit, it illuminated the dark cave
of my life.

I was singing one of Ginny's favorites, and when I couldn't hear
Ginny's powerful, but always off-key, voice, my voice became husky. I
lost the tune while the tears I'd never shed rolled down my cheeks. I
saw our friends from the Sunday School class Ginny and I had attended
faithfully for the last twenty-five years. I saw our two children, one
on either side of me. Each of their spouses sitting beyond their set of
my darling grandchildren. I saw everything except my other half.

My daughter was sitting on my left, my son on my right. Kristin, ever a
"daddy's girl" saw me crying first. Reaching behind me she poked her
younger brother, and in a stage whisper urged, "We have to get Daddy
home, now!"

I was too overcome to protest, but the last thing I wanted was to go
back to my empty house. Somehow, the two families hustled me out of the
pew and through the church's back door before Silent Night, always the
last song, was started.

I drove my car to our little neighborhood church, but my son-in-law
drove me home. Everyone else followed in the other two cars. For the
first time I was aware of all the decorated houses with their lawn
ornaments. A vain attempt to match the majesty of billions of stars on
this clear, cold, moonless night.

When we got to my house, I was shocked. It was decked out in all its
Christmas finery. How had I hung those lights? I'd always needed
Ginny's help to do them. Where had I found the crèche that Ginny's
mother had as a little girl? All the lights on the tree were blinking.
I must have spent hours finding burned out bulbs, when had I found the
time, or the energy?

I know I'd done it, but the doing was vague, distant. All our married
life, my one job was to hang the lights, outside and on the tree. Could
I have done all this? I know Ginny had left a detailed list of careful
instructions of what I was to do, but getting the house to look as it
always did when Ginny decorated, was a fragmented memory, like one from
early childhood. The kind where you're never sure if you remember the
incident or are remembering an earlier memory, a memory of a memory.

My son supported me with his normal vigor as we walked through the
leaded glass front doors into our living room. "The tree is perfect
Dad, just the way Mom always decorated it. We all want to stay, but Mom
gave us strict orders not to come over until after we celebrated our own
family trees in the morning. She said she wanted you to open her gift
alone. Kristin and John will bring breakfast for you, Jessie and I will
bring the fixings for dinner."

"Dad, are you going to be okay? Mom insisted that we take you to the
candlelight service like always, and that we leave you alone tonight,
but if you want..."

Reality sucks. I wished I could retreat back into my cocoon, but my
bubble had dissolved and I knew I couldn't live there anymore. I
interrupted him, "No, I'm going to be fine. I just miss your mother..."
I struggled not to break down. "More than I can say, but I need some
time to absorb all this. Don't come too early in the morning. I'll
probably stay up a while and sleep in."

He gave me a firm hug and left without another word. I looked around
the house. I hadn't been able to remove a single thing of Ginny's,
except the medical stuff we needed at the end. If she were to walk in
right now, everything would be like she wanted it.

I sat in my recliner, and I looked over at her empty chair. I pictured
her there laughing at the absurdity of a TV show. I could smell the
Sand and Sable perfume she loved. A grin almost cracked my face. The
kids always called it Sand of the Stable and it was her annual gift
from both of them as they grew up. A distant part of me noted it was
the first time I'd thought of Ginny and didn't want to cry. Oh precious
Lord, I miss her so, she made life fun!

I don't want to sound metaphysical, I don't believe in ghosts, but at
that instant, I felt a warmth flush my chest. As if my lungs had been
bathed in warm water. If it had continued much longer I might have
worried about a heart attack, but it lasted only a few seconds and it
was gone. I will always believe that it was Ginny's spirit saying she
loved me too. It left me at peace. It also left me resolved and
terribly fatigued. I was motivated to begin the process of disposing of
her things; it had been too long, but not tonight. Tonight I wanted to
savor memories and cherish what we had built together.

When I finally went to bed, I must have been asleep before my head hit
the pillow and awoke feeling more rested than I could remember being in
years. Donning my ratty old robe, I practiced my one culinary art, the
only thing I'd been allowed by Ginny to do in HER kitchen. I prepared a
mug of Prince of Wales tea. To achieve my masterwork I use two heaping
teaspoons of Sugar Raw, a brand of turbinado sugar, and three of half &
half. Folks have made fun of my persnicketiness in making tea, but every
one always asks for it instead of coffee. One of my private joys had
been to fix tea for Ginny every morning for the last fifteen years. I
always used a little yellow teapot; it was the perfect size for two
cups. This morning, for the first time since she died, I didn't use it.
It should have felt odd, but it didn't.

I never eat breakfast. I know, a terrible habit, but I never have more
than my tea. I carried my cup into the living room, sat in my chair,
and looked at the presents piled under the tree. There was a large
heavy box in garish paper that clashed with all the other presents for
my kids and their kids. It had arrived yesterday morning via Federal
Express overnight service.

There was a card on it in Ginny's distinctive handwriting that said,
"To my loving husband." I wasn't surprised that I had a Christmas gift
from Ginny six months after she'd died. Ginny was one of those people
who did their Christmas shopping early, like at the after-Christmas
sales. I was a little surprised that she'd ordered something to be
delivered Christmas Eve, but my major surprise was how anxious I was to
open it.

I think its arrival yesterday was what caused the first crack in my
shield, b?t my reaction at the time was anger that she was sending me
something while I would never be able to buy anything for her again.
Now I was excited by her last demonstration of her love for me.

A tingle of fear crept into my excitement. What if this was something
Ginny had ordered before she got sick, something that she'd intended
both of us to enjoy. Ginny gave me a ton of gifts like that over our
twenty-eight years of marriage. For example, one birthday she gave me a
cruise for two to Alaska. I'd been stationed up there in my time in the
Navy and hated the place. For years I'd told Ginny I wanted a
Mediterranean cruise to see all the historical sites of the Roman
Empire, Roman history is a hobby of mine. So, her gift to Me was an
Alaskan trip that Ginny had dreamed of and hadn't thought we could
afford.

Of course she bought my Roman History cruise as my birthday gift to Her
a few months later. I enjoyed both cruises, very romantic. That had been
two years ago, and if this were something like that, I didn't know if I
could stand it.

When I opened it, my false teeth fell out. Well, they would have if I
had false teeth. She'd given me an inflatable sex doll. It was the most
obscene thing I'd ever seen. I was shocked and I didn't know what to do.
The kids knew she'd sent me something, but how could I let them see
this--this Thing!

I loved our sex life, but it was very conservative. We did do IT in
public once, if you count daybreak behind a sand dune on a deserted
beach. If I'd made a list of the ten thousand most likely gifts from
Ginny, an inflatable sex doll still wouldn't be on it!

Tucked down in a corner was another card. It had my name printed on it
and the notation, "Personal from the manufacturer."

Hoping for some sort of explanation, I opened it with trepidation.
Inside was a handwritten note in beautiful calligraphy. The body read:

"Our company advertises these inflatable dolls as gag gifts, so we
receive some very odd requests. Many of those we wouldn't honor even if
we thought it would be legal to do so. When we received your wife's
request, it was so unusual that I thought I'd better check it out. I
visited with your wife many times after that first call. I am proud
that she considered me a friend. I never met a more inspiring woman. I
want you to know that I mourned her passing, I even considered flying
in for her funeral. I did send a donation to your church in her name.
You should receive the card after New Years Day.

"I also wanted to share, that typical of her, I received an email two
days ago reminding me of the shipping date and the instructions. It was
only when I was personally preparing this doll for you that I began to
worry that you might not get her real messages. I haven't read them,
they remain sealed in the envelopes she sent me. However, you won't
find them unless you inflate the doll and explore. Your wife had a
wonderful sense of humor, and it is my prayer as you inflate her gift
to you, that you can laugh about the packaging as much as she did when
she planned it for you."

Ginny had a wicked sense of humor, and she always delighted in poking
holes in what she called my "pompous tendencies." It's hard to explain
just how I felt as I used our canister vacuum cleaner to inflate the
sex doll. I almost laughed aloud when it began to take shape. If the
wrapping paper was garish, what word could I use for how hideously
lurid that doll was? It was a caricature of a parody of a doll. The
only thing lifelike was its size.

Ginny, knew me, but I also knew Ginny. I knew where her message would
be, but I also know she'd leave me some pithy comments in the other two
orifices. I spent a full ninety seconds trying to decide the sequence
she planed for me to follow. After triple guessing myself, I checked
the doll's bottom, retrieved Ginny's note, opened it and laughed aloud
for the first time in since Ginny died. The message, in her
handwriting, said:

"In your dreams, my dear husband. Why did I know that the first place
you'd check was the place you've never been?"

I moved to the other lower o?ening and retrieved her second handwritten
note.

"This place is what the message is about, not where I want it delivered
from. Now stop thinking with your precious little head, use your big
head and let's talk."

I smiled at the heart of my special lady. I checked the doll's mouth
and got my last message from my wife.

"My darling, I hope you are smiling. I am as I write this. Somehow, I
think I'm there with you now, but I don't have to be there to see the
expression on your face when you opened my next-to-the-last gift to
you. I know you, sweetheart, you've been hiding in your Ol' Bear cave,
chasing off everyone who might want to help you. Pulling back from
those who love you.

"Well, my darling, it's Christmas morning and it's been long enough.
Our kids need you, and our grandkids deserve to know the man I love. I
also know that those family jewels I loved are turning a bit blue. I
can't bear the thought that for the rest of your life you'll be reduced
to using the equivalent of this doll, I've named her Suzy Slut by the
way--or what did you call it, Rosy Palm? I can't bear that your love
might atrophy to those pale imitations.

"I've spent a lot of time thinking about this, dearest lover, and
you're too young to spend the rest of your life as a widower. I looked
to see if you might find the next love of your life among the people we
know, and I don't think you will. There are some wonderful women, but I
don't think you can get past our shared history to completely give
yourself to them. That's what I want, I want you to give yourself to
your next wife as completely as you gave yourself to me. I don't want
you to hold any part back. I believe Jesus when he said that heaven
won't be like earth and there isn't marriage there. That means you need
to give your body and your heart to your new love. Where I am now, I
promise I don't need it. Nothing will ever replace what we had, and you
will never have a love like ours. We raised a family and we grew up
together. No one else can do that with you. But that was then, and this
is now. I want you to create a new, and I pray, an even better love.

"I won't be there to grow old with you and I can't stand the thought of
you growing old alone and bitter. So, as my last gift to you, I'm giving
you a dating service. I checked out several and even looked at the sort
of responses you can expect. I picked the best and paid the fees. I've
filled out the personality profile for you. After all, I know you
better than you know yourself, I'm less modest too. I've talked to both
our kids and they support what I'm doing. The studies all say that the
better the marriage the shorter the time before you re-marry. We had
the best marriage in history. So you've mourned me long enough! New
Years Day is a time of new beginnings, and I want you to send answers
to at least five women who have responded to your profile, on New Years
Day... you can miss those bowl games, because I know that our Longhorns
will be in the BCS Championship this year. Dearest Husband, I know you
don't want to do this, but I want you to know that one of the things
that is making my leaving you easier is knowing that I found a good way
for you to live on. I know you won't spoil my peace.

Live and love fully, heart of my heart, with my blessing.

Your Ginny.

"Oh, PS, there were a couple ladies I emailed that I really liked who
said they were going to wait for you. There was one that seemed perfect
to me. If she did, and you marry her, you'll know that I couldn't have
picked better myself. Now get that doll out of sight before the kids
get here, I don't think we want to share our sex life with them--We
don't want them to get jealous!"


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                                 The End


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Please drop me a note and tell me what you thought.  Don't worry about
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