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Christmas At The Cabin

Missing Dad

By Faith MaryEllen CaselmanPublished about a year ago 6 min read
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We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A- frame cabin. My mind floods with memories of being a little girl again screaming, laughing, and playing in the snow. Mom would bound my siblings and I really tight we could scarcely breath. Layer our hands with mittens making sure not an inch of us was left uncovered. Dad would pick up the younger ones and put them front seat of the old blue truck. Us older ones clamored in the back. Off we were. First to haul in wood was, cut, loaded, and unloaded by the back door we would all clamor back in including mom, and go pick out the perfect tree.

Those days are gone now. My siblings have gotten older and moved away each starting their own families. My husband and I are the only ones who visit the cabin anymore, haul wood, cut it, load it, and unload by the back door, and then pick out a perfect tree. I tell him my memories of my childhood traditions every year. Every year he listens hoping one day to share those traditions with children of our own. This year is different. This year dad is gone. Mom went to stay with my older brother since his passing. We were going to meet them a couple days before Christmas, but I couldn’t. Dad wouldn’t be there. Last minute my husband and drove out to the cabin one last time before it sold and would be too late. I guess I thought that maybe seeing the place I could feel my dad again. That maybe I could imagine him standing on the porch waving us inside before we caught cold.

My husband squeezes my shoulder to wake me my thoughts. “We are almost there.” He whispers.

Anxiety creeps up my spine. Do I really want to see the cabin like this? Empty. Repainted white, “It will sell faster if the wallpaper is taken off and the walls repainted”, the realtor said. My mom listened and my brother helped er repaint the walls. Beautiful floral wallpaper in the kitchen, green blue and red stripes in the foyer…. strange…it was all ugly before. Now…I call it beautiful. A few years ago mom thought about changing it, but dad said “No need to change it now it’s been that way since we put it there it can stay that way till we leave”. My mom left it alone. “Besides taking off wallpaper Is no easy feat.” He would remind her.

As we round the last the last bend, I make my husband pull to the side of the road. “Are you okay?” My heart is in my throat, and I can’t seem to swallow it back down into its proper place. My head hurts due to chastising me for making him stop. My eyes sting. The rest of me doesn’t feel a thing. “We can turn around and go ahead and meet your brother…”. I can’t respond. I hear the click of the seatbelt, before moving closer to me engulfing me in his arms. I let my heart out of my throat and shut out the disparaging voice in my head. The stinging in my eyes stop as they let open the flood that had built up the whole way here.

When I have paused long enough to catch my breath my husband asks if I can make it the rest of the way or if I would like the go on to my brother’s. “I can make it.” We drive the last mile, and I can see the house just in the valley below. My heart stops. There is fire coming out of the chimney, someone is unloading wood out by the back door. Has the cabin sold? Suddenly I feel like an intruder. Surely mom would have said something if it had. My husbands looks as if he has noticed too but he hasn’t said anything.

Pulling up beside the man as he unloads the last of the wood my husband rolls my window down. The man walks over to the passenger window. “Hey sis, mom said you wanted to come out….I figured I would have it nice and warm for you…” I can hear the strain in his voice. Again, I want to sob. He looks so much like dad. I get out of the truck and embrace him tight. My husband is already at the door waiting for us. “Mom’s got hot chocolate ready for you all.” My younger sister says in greeting. Laughter and screams of delight assault my ears. My family is home for Christmas. All my siblings and their families. “We parked in front so we could surprise you…. we didn’t want to you to come home to an empty house…. Dad wouldn’t have liked that….”. I hug her too and inch my way into the house hugging each of my siblings as I go my husband trailing behind me.

Finally, I get to my mom. “How was the drive.” “Not bad”, my husband answers. “Your just in time to help pick up the tree”. I watch as the kids grab their coats and their mother bundle them up real tight making sure not an inch is left uncovered. My eldest brother goes out to start old blue, my husband helps the little ones get into the front seat, while the older children clamor in the back. My sister’s and I watch them go toward the place where the best trees are. When the come back we greet them at the helping with coats, shoes, and mittens. Then hand each one a cup of hot coco.

As we warm by the hearth my mom drags starts hanging decorations on the tree. We reminisce about the story that came with each ornament, about how Dad would always lift my mom up so she could put on the angel. “Here, will you put it on this year?” My sister hand me the angel. Knowing I can’t reach the top my husband sweeps me up and I place the angel on the tree.

I heart aches for my dad, but in the presence of my family I feel him with me. In my younger sister’s smile, my younger brother’s laugh, my elder brother’s warmth, and my mom’s stories. My heart and mind feel peace again despite the ache. I know that with time I have less distance with the grief I feel, and I know some days will be harder than others, but for now I can hold on to the knowledge that I am not alone in my grief my family feels it too.

Fifteen years later.

The cabin now sits abandoned due to a fire, but not forgotten. Mom has also since gone. My siblings and I have gotten older; age showing more and more in our faces. I and my husband have children now having started our own traditions. We still bundle our children up as we play in the snow, we may not go to the woods for a tree, but I still like the real tree, it reminds of my Dad and the way he smelled of pine after hauling in the wood. We have hot chocolate by the fire. Time as allowed my siblings and I some distance from our grief of losing our parents, but some days when the grief hits me hardest a take a drive up the snowy, winding road towards where a cozy A- frame cabin used to sit.

childrengriefimmediate familyparentssiblingsfact or fiction
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