The Christmas I was pregnant with Samuel I listened to "The Preacher's Wife" CD over and over again, blaring from the CD Player inside my Chevy Astrovan. I had a cold. Whenever I had a coughing spree, I would pee in my pants a little bit. It got so bad I started wearing sanitary napkins so I would stop worrying about it all the time.
I yawn and lean back in my chair that is my porch desk's companion. I listen as I remember. A close by chirp of a small bird. A lusty jay in a neighbor's yard shouts. A siren travels from block-to-block-to-block. A leaf blower, a hair dryer, tires massaging the asphalt. My thumb breathes on the whiteness stretching across the page. I think of the poem I wrote earlier, with Samuel by my side. Sun rays, heated, on my cheek and warm my closed eye-lid. I see Flagstaff, then, and remember that long ago Christmas.
Katherine is re-rooting herself here. I listen as she walks through the back door. Singing, she searches for herself among the items in the garage and the oak trees.
I think about the gifts I wanted to buy that I have yet to buy. I see my neighbor's grown daughter seeking escape from her former house.
I remember the last time I spent Christmas with my extended family. It was 1989. I was pregnant with Marlena. We never spend Christmas together again. Each year I remember and the sadness creeps away a little bit. I miss my family at this time of year and am working (and praying!) to keep my family connected even if one of them has the bad fortune to have a baby die.
Today Samuel and I talked about it. "You want to live on the same street as me when I am grown up?"
You betcha, Samuel. This all across the country scattering of family doesn't work for me.
Just another Christmas Eve.
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