Christmas is one of those times of year where I thought about family, and what it was like to have one. Walking the streets, in the snow, planning on how I could get to a Turkey Dinner. Thinking, “Which church was it that I was supposed to go to?” and “I wonder what my mother and brother are doing?” “Should I call?” “I don’t want to leave another message.” And then “What happens if they answer the phone?” Christmas was like this for years.
Christmas at the Orchard was one of those things that I’ll never forget. It was the first time I spent Christmas with my mother since I was twenty-one. She has been remarried now, and this is the third time that I’ve met her new husband. My mother flew out to see me for the holidays, this is a vast change from screening her calls. She tells me how proud she is, and I can feel the pride in her. I think I cried a couple of times over the few days that my mother was at the Orchard to visit me. I don’t think that I had felt that kind of love in any of my memories at that time.
I’ve talked about the visit with my mother since then, and we both remember the same things; a little bit of awkwardness, lots of excitement, and a family taking one very big step towards coming back together.