The Heart of Christmas

*Contains light cursing and disturbing concepts? - I think?*

The kids can barely sit still for more than 30 seconds without nervous excitement lifting them up and carrying them aimlessly through the house. The anticipation of Santa’s arrival is hard to temper when they’re this young. I watch them squirm in excitement, and I try to soak up every little bit of this beautiful time in their lives. They’re all filled with such wonder and I’m grateful that I get to live it with them, adding to the magic. Even better, I get to do it all with the love of my life.

I don’t know that either of us ever thought we’d actually be parents, but I guess when you fall in love like Jackie and I did, it’s almost inevitable. Before I met Jackie, I always thought you had to speak to someone for them to understand you, but I’ve never told her anything she didn’t already know from looking in my eyes. It’s one of the things I love most about her. 

Though I didn't think about it much, I always assumed that fatherhood wouldn’t be my thing. I didn’t think I could find that balance of love and discipline that’s so important in raising children nor did I think I could grow up enough to raise someone else. Honestly, I wasn’t even convinced I’d be a good husband. The thought of taking on the responsibility of providing for another person, let alone three whole, living children on top of that, felt impossible to approach confidently. But shit. Life comes at you swinging out of nowhere, hits you over the head and takes your shoes, making you forget everything you thought you knew and leaving you with a beautiful family you never in a million years expected to create. Days like today, I’m grateful things happen that way rather than the way we plan them. 

Carrie, my oldest, is lining up my wife’s famous chocolate chip cookies perfectly with the classically accompanied glass of milk. She’ll turn 10 in the week following New Years (double digits - big deal). She’s into American Girl dolls and stationary at this point in her childhood. She reminds me so much of my own sister: fiercely competent and perfectionistic in such an understated way. I know she’ll be great at whatever she puts her mind to. 

Our 7 year old, Gavin, is maniacally sprinkling reindeer food (oats and glitter) on the lawn with the indispensable help of the youngest, Jenny, who stands at attention holding a plate of carrots, awaiting further instructions. At the ripe age of 3, Jenny is not quite sure what it means to deck halls and make merriment, but she is excited to participate nonetheless. Gavin, on the other hand, is well aware of the coming festivities and is bouncing off every wall our small house has to offer. He is nothing short of a firecracker. I would have killed to possess his raw athleticism in my own childhood. It’s exciting to think about what he’ll do with it as he reaches sporting age. 

They want everything to be just so for Santa. It’s a delightful scene to behold.

As the hours creep by, my wife and I decide our best bet at calming our three thundering jingle bells and preparing them for their impending bedtime is to sit them down to watch my favorite childhood Christmas movie. Watching the Polar Express on Christmas Eve with my sister growing up always made Christmas feel even more real to me. It's hard to describe the joy I feel being able to pass the tradition onto my own kids, especially in the wake of my sister’s untimely death last spring.

Jenny is evidently unable to make it through the movie and is promptly carried upstairs and tucked into bed for the night - one down, two to go. By the time the Polar Express departs from the North Pole and heads back down south, Carrie is sleepy enough to bring herself to her bed, where she will toss and turn for what feels like hours, fighting the excitement of the day to come, before finding sleep. In true form, Gavin tries to bargain a way out of bedtime protocol. After convincing him that Santa simply cannot come until all the children are asleep in the house, he submits and heads to his room, bringing the last bit of naive christmas spirit with him.

Quiet finally fills the house as the TV is clicked off, each kid is kissed goodnight, and the hum of excitement fizzles out among the adults left standing. I too see myself off to bed, leaving Jackie to set the stage for tomorrow’s festivities. She was always better at visual presentation anyways. 

Rather than being awoken by three furiously excited, screaming children jumping on my bed, the same quiet from the night before still hangs in the air as I open my eyes the next morning. Exiting the bedroom, I descend the stairs to find Jackie sitting in the family room alone. Hah - I beat the kids to their presents. A small wave of relief washes over me knowing that I didn’t miss out on their precious reactions.

I feel her eyes follow me as I cross the room to the tree, around which there are three piles of beautifully wrapped presents. In front of each pile lie three gift boxes smaller than the rest.

She has the strangest look to her this morning. I can’t place the expression she’s wearing. I look at her with the same adoring eyes that I have for the 15 years we’ve been together. She stares back at me, eyes nearly dripping with anticipation. 

Gesturing intensely towards a gift box set in the front of the middle-most pile of presents, Jackie seems to be brimming with more excitement than all three of our passionate Santa believers combined. Investigating the surprisingly heavy box, I see that it’s for me from Jackie. I feel a warmth pool in my chest at the thought of what she might’ve given me. I lift my head to look at her, but her face looking back at me feels oddly unfamiliar.  

The quiet begins to seep through the slow, bright morning, polluting the magical atmosphere the house held just a few hours ago. Feeling a slightly nervous excitement, I tug and tear at the delicate wrapping paper, which rips and snags in response. 

All at once my heart sinks, my eyes sting, and my entire being shakes with grief as I peer into the box to see something unlike any gift I had ever opened before. I rub my eyes to blur the sight out of my mind, but I open them again to see the very same thing. 

Though I’ve never seen one in person before, I am certain that what I’m looking at is a heart: such a small heart, so red it almost looks black. 

Looking up, a singular breath staggers out of my chest. In disbelief, my glance travels to another present and lands on the tag addressed to the same recipient from the same giver. And another. And another. 

All the same and all mine.

Before I know it, I’m running through the upstairs hallway from Carrie to Gavin to Jenny’s rooms, finding nothing but empty beds. Nearly falling back down the stairs now, I find her sitting motionless, unnerved, and almost unaware.

“W-what have you done….?”, I heave. Feeling my heart break into 3 million pieces, I wonder briefly where her’s has gone. Staring into her vacant, deranged eyes, I realize that for the first time, I have no idea what’s going on behind them. What I do know is that if I open more, I will find that I have three beautiful, small, bleeding hearts.