As the snow falls, i’m reminded of old times. How during thanksgiving, when we all sat down at the table, my mom's enthralling voice would always catch the attention of everyone present in the room. As she lead us in the prayer over our thanksgiving meal. How my mom would get on my dad when he snuck a bite of the food while she was blessing the food. How my dad would smirk after, I can still remember how his face looked at those times. I always thought he was thinking ‘you can’t have thanksgiving without messing with your wife.’ Of course it was only me imagining what he would say, only to get laughs from it. But those, those were the happiest times of my life. I also remember my brothers laughs, and wide smiles, so wide their faces could get stuck. It seemed like a lot of my fading memories had their smiles in it. They always made sure I was happy, and I ate the best I could at thanksgiving.
Of course like any other families, we had our fights as well. But at the end of the day;we loved each other.
Christmas wasn’t any different from these times. Like other families, putting up the tree on the stands were the most nerve wrecking. My mom constantly yelling at my dad to put it up straight, and my dad yelling back ‘well, hold it straight then!’ But when it was done, quite a bit of time had already passed. Whenever they finished, we were always already asleep; on our parents bed. Two young children, and one even younger child fast asleep close together on their parents bed. Our parents, being the kind parents they were, put one big blanket across us so we were all covered, kissed our foreheads, brought the nightlight to their bedroom, and went to sleep on the pull out bed on the sofa.
And when the next morning arrived, and all three of us had woken up, they had already been ready to decorate the tree. They had stretched out the lights, set out the ornaments, and already had their morning coffee. Because, they knew, that we didn’t care about breakfast or anything else. We just wanted to decorate the tree, as siblings, and as family.
After the tree was decorated, the lights, ornaments and all, we had one last detail; the star. And, my parents had made sure all three of us contributed to it. My mom had both my brothers in her arms, one on the left, one on the right. And then, my dad would hold me for support, as my brothers used what little strength children no older than five and four had, to hold up the two year old me as I placed the star atop our tree.
Days in that home were filled with beautiful memories, memories of a happy family.We’d sit on our couch with our parents. Some days I was on my dad's leg, and my brothers each sat on one of my mom’s legs. Other days we’d switch it around, and go back and forth on different days. We’d listen to my mom sing many things to us, even now, I still remember her singing voice. We’d listen to my dad’s folktales and fairy tales he made up from scratch. About christmas, About santa, and just about anything that fit the moment of any season. Each time it was a new story, and a new happily ever after. Our dad made sure we knew happy ever afters don’t always happen in real life. And when they do, they don’t come without struggles and sometimes pain. ‘You fight for your ending’ is what he used to say.
My mom had such a beautiful voice, and my dad? Well, he was gifted with in some other ways. Darker, yet handy ways, but he was still the best father I remember.
But along with time, those peaceful and happy moments faded away in the wind. Without us even noticing, it faded away so fast, and the aftermath just dragged more and more happiness away. Like every happy thing, the world has pulled away my happiness. Using them as a symbol of his cruel way to bring about the fate he chooses.
The once happy family had been divided with this one act of terror. Had we been able to avoid it at the time? I constantly ask myself that question.
Our family turned to shambles, but you probably don’t know what i’m talking about. Seven years ago, on christmas eve, my dad fell dead in front of our precious christmas tree. I always remember my brothers way of telling it. “He went out with a ‘bang’ “,he would say. They said “Oh, that’s just red wine your father spilled.” But I remember wondering if my father ever drank wine, or if we even owned any growing up after that incident.
I remember my mom, who had been ill for a while already, holding us close in her bedroom with the door locked. Her soft subtle red lips placing something almost like a blessing on our foreheads, as she spoke to my two brothers. We never saw her again soon after that, and yet she smiled at us. After that, everything began to fall apart as a result. Moved back and forth between the foster program, and only having each other. But, the foster home we finally rested in was nothing but a nightmare. And we still live in it now. The couple that are fostering us only do it because they will get their own benefits from it, and they have to. They are two alcoholic and violent people.But it didn’t matter to us, because we had each other. But even then, we lost that to.
As my eldest brother got older,he started become more distant. At first, I just told myself it was how he grew as a teen. But, that was all just a lie I would soon come to realize.It wasn’t long before we found out why, but when we did, it was too late. One day, he left, without saying why or where he was going. My foster parents didn’t care, just one less mouth they had to feed. He left when he was sixteen, and we soon knew why. It was for pure revenge and closure, against the man who took everything from us. But, one thing kept me going, at least I had my older brother. But not too long after, even that facade began to fade. My older brother was diagnosed with the unknown sickness my mother had, the one she was ill with before the incident. Apparently, it runs in the family. Then, eventually, he fell into a coma, and he hasn’t woken up since.
Now, i’m here, alone. Without my brothers, without my parents to tell me its okay. The only thing keeping me alive, is that my elder brother is still out there somewhere, and my other brother isn’t dead. He will live, I just need to have faith. And that’s where the story is now, this is my path to recovery.
ns 15.158.61.48da2
