Christmas Day

My eyes shot open, reflexively
tightened up and looked towards the door. Its 12:01 am Christmas morning and at
any moment the door to the bedroom will burst open and my two beautiful
children will run in giggling with presents already in hand. Seconds passed and
nothing happened. It took a full minute before I remembered no one would
be coming through the door this year. The kid's accident was only a couple of
months ago. I wake up most mornings and for the briefest moment every day, I
forget they are gone. I find myself lying in bed, listening for their laughter
or cries for breakfast to fill the house, before the pain of losing them hits
me as fresh as the day it happened.
It was a car accident that took
them away. I was supposed to pick them up after school, but work ran late. I
called my daughter Samantha who was thirteen, three years older than her
brother Ryan was, and told her, they would have to walk home. It was only a
couple of blocks and they had done it plenty of times before, it was not a big
deal. Except that day it would be.
She was only a kid, around the age
of twenty-five, and did not see them crossing the street. She was probably
texting, eating, or doing one of the hundred other things people do while
driving other than paying attention. It did not matter what she was doing, she
hit both of them and they did not make it. Ryan died right there on the road
while the ambulance tried to bring Samantha to the hospital in time to save her
life. They were not fast enough and in the span of twenty minutes, my life was
destroyed.
Janet, my wife at the time, blamed
me. Of course she did. It would not have happened if I had just picked them up
as I was supposed to. She made it through the funeral and burials before
leaving, and thinking back on it I could not blame her. I can't stand the sight
of myself either, that's why all the mirrors in the house are shattered, and
why the gun I bought last week was already loaded and waiting in the
night-stand by the empty bed.
All of these thoughts rushed
through my head as I dragged myself out of bed and put my head in my hands. It
is the first Christmas I have had to spend alone. The house dark and empty.
Last year at this time the kids were awake and already opening the one special
present they picked out to start Christmas with. The tree would be lit, casting
a festive glow in the living room. The smell of cocoa and coffee would be
strong in the air, but it was the laughter and joy that would wake me up the
most. As a parent, there is nothing better than seeing your kids excited and
happy, and nothing does that more than opening presents on Christmas Day.
I closed my eyes and tried to
collect my thoughts, but a sound from the living room grabbed my attention. It
sounded like the soft thud of little feet trying to be quiet as they snuck
through the house. A sound I have not heard in months. Shuffling off the bed, I
made my way towards the sound. Opening the door to the bedroom and looking out
to the empty living room. This is where they would be sitting, right under the
tree, presents in hand, waiting for a sign they could start ripping into their
presents.
Of course no one is there now. The
room was dark and the fake tree was still in its box, propped up against the
wall and unopened. It hurt too much not to try to get ready for Christmas
without them and it hurt too much to try. Looking at the empty living room, I
could almost feel them there, sitting legs crossed looking towards our room.
Waiting to see if we were ready. They would each get to open their one present
and then get whatever was in their stockings, mostly little dollar store
trinkets and candy, but it was still exciting to them even though they were
getting too old for the  cheap toys.
It was never going to be that way
again. This holiday of love and joy for everyone else will be a constant
reminder of what I lost. Made worse by the fact all other families, neighbors,
and even strangers are coming together, putting aside their differences and
problems to have this one special day together, and here I am alone. The weight
of the gun in my hand snaps me back to the cold dark room that is my life now,
reminding me there is still a way out. I look towards the tree and imagine it
like it was last year. Blue and silver twine circling bright blue LCD lights, superhero
and Disney character ornaments from theme parks and rest stops the kids always
had to have. Decadent glass orbs that were a wedding gift, and the two angles
looking back at me smiling and waiting for me to join them. I'm Coming
I thought as I felt the cold metal of the gun barrel against me temple, I
pulled the trigger...
The sound is louder than anything
I ever experienced, and I heard it a fraction before the pain hit. So loud, I
could not see, the world went black as all my senses faded until all I could
experience was the roar between my ears. When the pain finally came, it was
almost a relief. The sound did not stop but my focus shifted from an
earth-shattering rumbling to a drill like sensation that started in my temple and
started boring inward. The combination of the sound and pain dropped me to my
knees, the gun slipping from my hand. Reflexively my hands shot up to the
source of the pain and found nothing, not a mark at the spot just seconds ago I
shot a bullet.
Can we open our presents now,
Daddy? A voice cut through the pain and I struggled to open my eyes to
find the source. The dark empty room I was in moments ago was transformed when
my eyes finally pried open. The first thing I notice was everything is bathed
in a red flickering light, the glow coming from the back wall where the
unopened Christmas tree box used to sit. Now in its place was a fully decorated
tree. Instead of the blue and silver of years passed, the tree was now dressed
in red tinsel and lights that contained actual flickering flames that gave the
appearance of the tree being consumed by fire. Blood red ornaments seemed to
drip the light throughout the tree and reflected the glow around the
room.
Sitting on the floor in front of
me, presents in hand, were my children. Their matching green Christmas pajamas
tinged red from the glowing tree, making them look muddy and unclean. Their
backs were to me but from where I was standing, I could see something was not
right. Ryan's small arm was bent unnaturally at the elbow, giving it an insect
like appearance, and the hand that rested on his present was twitching
uncontrollably. The fingers tapping on the wrapping paper of the present at
first seemed like he was merely trying to open it but the more I watched I could
tell it was an involuntary spasm of pain. The floor under Samantha's crossed
legs was covered in blood. I could not tell if it was coming from her or the
present on her lap, maybe both. Her head turned towards me, when I could just
about see her face her head flopped back on a clear broken neck. Empty jet
black eyes looked directly at me, a thin red trail of blood escaped her mouth,
traveled upwards to her face and started to pool in the corner of her right
eye. Can we open our presents now, Daddy? She asked again, her voice
deeper then I remembered with none of the joy or light she had when she was
alive.
I had to get out of the house. The
pain in my head is unbearable and diluting my equilibrium, but I manage to
stumble out the front door. Outside was almost pitch black, all of the lights
on the street and neighboring buildings were off. The only source of light was
coming from a full blood moon casting an odd dark orange hue over everything in
sight. A loud wet sounding thud caught my attention down the road and I slowly
make my way to the apartment building down the street. The pain comes in waves,
pressure building up in my skull blinding me. It got so bad I fell to my knees
again. There was not anything around that could help, the street was empty. The
businesses and houses along the road were boarded up and looked abandoned.
Nothing looked like it did yesterday. Once I was finally able to get moving, I
saw a light on in a living room a couple houses down on the right of where I
fell. I walked toward the light and could see a figure standing at the window
looking out towards the road in my direction.
It was a women, pale white skin,
wearing a white wedding dress. As I got close, she raised her hand as if waving
to me and I saw the marks on her arm. There was a long four-inch slit starting
from where her palm met her wrist down to her mid forearm. Blood slowly pumped
out in thick rivulets down her arm and onto her white dress, staining it
instantly. The pain flared up again and I stumbled in front of the window. She
looked down at me almost understandingly before she turned and disappeared
inside her house. We could not help each other, but just as she seemed to
understand what I was now going through I felt I understood her loss as well.
It was this day, Christmas day. For most, it was a reminder of what they had,
but for us it was too much of a reminder of what was lost.
I collected myself for a moment
before another loud wet thud brought me back. I push onward trying to find a
way out of this nightmare. The street's Christmas decorations were still up but
the lights were all dead. The usual joyful colors of forest green wreaths and
red candy canes looked dull and corroded on the seemingly abandoned buildings.
Ripped and haphazardly hung tinsel clung in patches to the dark streetlights.
Movement above me caught my attention. Hanging from the streetlight almost
hidden by moss colored tinsel was a slightly overweight man.
He appeared to have been dead for
some time. His dark features made even more obscure by the pooling of blood in
his face and around the noose he hung by his neck from. His large fat tongue
stuck out between thick swollen lips like a diseased overgrown worm. He was
dressed in a dirty Santa suit that seemed to have a lot of wear and not
enough care on it, and I can smell the sweet and vile mixture of alcohol and
vomit. Another wave of pain and pressure made me collapse into a ball directly
under the man. The unkempt Santa's eyes shot open and he looked at me. He began
to struggle against the rope holding him to the streetlight, his legs kicking,
rocking himself violently back and forth while grunting for help. Just another
sad soul claimed by this unholy night.
All I could do was crawl forward,
the pain kept me from getting to my feet. I could not help the man, I could not
help my family, and I cannot help myself. I hear the thud again, this time
right beside me. The sound was a wet smack of flesh hitting something solid. I
rolled over on my side and tried to get a look at what was making that horrid
sound, and found myself staring into the bloodshot eyes of a man in a bloody
and ripped up tailored suit.
His body was smashed and broken,
blood leaked from his eyes and mouth into a dark neatly trimmed jet-black
goatee. He must have fell from the building to my left, some kind of business
office, I could not tell what company, and reading and moving my head to much
caused the pain to intensify. As I look into the man's eyes, his pupils begin
to shift, he seems to be trying to focus on me. His bones seemed to rearrange
themselves in his face and jaw, his mouth twisting into a surprised frown. He
tries to raise himself up on his hands and knees, but the bones in his forearms
were shattered and jagged cream tinted shards were breaking through the skin. He
shrieked in agony and collapsed back onto his stomach.
I could hear a horrible grinding
and tearing sound as his body shuddered. All I could do is watch in horror as
the bones retreated into his skin and while screaming he forced his way upright
once again. Standing in front of me, I can see that his body is almost
completely healed. HIs left arm still hung lower off of his shoulder socked he
stood on a ankle that was bent sideways on an angle that could only mean the
bone was still broken, but all pain seemed to have left him. Instead, what
replaced the agony on his face just moments before was a puzzled bewilderment
and as if I was not even there he searched the surrounding area as if he was
looking for something he just lost. He quickly found what he was looking for
and straightened himself out. I can see he was now standing there with a worn
and battered briefcase in his hand. He adjusted what was left of his blooded
Christmas tree tie and walked back into the building I suspected he fell from.
If you happened not to see the dark spreading blotches of blood or the rip and
tears in his suit, he would look just like any other corporate business man
going to work Christmas morning.
I feel a desperate need
to get out of here no matter what it would take. Ignoring the debilitating
pain, I stood up and blindly started running, not caring about the direction I
was heading. The only goal was to escape the awful things I have been
witnessing. Nothing was going to slow me down, not the pain, not the nauseating
roar in my head, not even the loud wet thud of a body hitting the pavement
again behind me. I did not stop running until my legs could no longer carry me
and out of breath I stumbled up to an abandoned house.
The pain was too intense, I fought
the urge to lie down and using my shoulder, I force the door to the house open
and trip into the living room. The living room of the house was dark, and the
fake tree was still in its box propped up against the wall unopened it. It hurt
too much not to get ready for Christmas without them and it hurt too much to
try. Looking at the empty living room, I could almost feel them there, sitting
legs crossed looking towards our room. Waiting to see that we were ready. They
would each get to open their one present and then get whatever was in their
stocking, mostly little dollar store trinkets and candy, but it was still
exciting to them even though they were getting too old for the  cheap
toys.
It was never going to be that way
again. I feel the weight of the gun in my hand. I imagine seeing the kids
sitting by the tree. Imagine Christmas how it is supposed to be, the best day
of the year. The time when you are with your family and loved ones and all the
pain is gone. I want their smiling faces to be the last thing I think about and
I put the gun to my head with tears welling up in my eyes. I pull the
trigger...
The sound is louder than anything I have ever
experienced, and it came before the pain.
Category:Christmas
Category:Mental Illness