The Last Christmas


His mother died in the last week of September, her sickness had come quick and the shadow of death tarried very briefly. His dad pulled him away from her body and said, Boy she is gone, come on now and let the man do his business. He had been ten that September and the pains of the few weeks of deaths visit had been hard. His father had been hammered into more bitterness by her death and in the coming weeks the fields were made muddier by his own ten year old tears.  In early December he asked his father if he could cut a Christmas tree and put on it the ornaments his mother had displayed each year. The response had been no, There ain’t no Christmas boy that was just a womans tale. The last weekend before school closed for Christmas he had taken it upon himself to cut a tree and decorate it with the things his mother had stored. When his father saw it he just scoffed and went to bed.  Coming home from school the next day he saw smoke coming from the back yard where the Christmas tree and all the ornaments were in flames.  That was the last Christmas.  Life moved on and he became a bitter and lonely man just like his father, the years added nothing but grief and scars and now at almost eighty he lived alone in a small trailer at the edge of the old farm alone and disliked by everyone.  On Christmas Eve he heard a car, several cars and opened his door to see a number of young people singing as they approached the trailer. They handed him a small Christmas tree, plugged it into the power in his room and sung the great songs of Christmas.  That night as he slept somehow the little boy in the old man’s body smiled and again wept sweet tears of time now gone. Taylor Scarborough died that night as he slept, that was the Last Christmas.

Published in: on December 25, 2013 at 12:51 am  Leave a Comment  

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