Angels in the snow

Angels In The Snow 

I look out beyond the window to see piles of snow. It coats the once grassy ground with its thick white powder. I look over at my car and flush with fear. It’s been swallowed by the crystal pure snow. I frantically run outside still in my pajama bottoms desperate to see if I can get it out. To my luck, I can't. I'm sunk knee deep in snow that freezes my bones. 

I scurry back into the house and flick on the news. I watch intently as I hear the words I dread most spill out of the weather man's mouth. They swim through my head as I desperately try to comprehend what he’s saying. 

“Residents are not advised to leave their houses unless crucial.” No this can’t be, I must be delusional. I always leave town before Christmas comes. How could I not have left sooner? I shiver at the touch of my still snowy pajama pants before throwing on sweats instead. I turn off the news and go to make myself coffee. I look out the window and simply can’t bear the sight of children playing in the snow before me. I close the window and draw the curtains blocking out Christmas itself. 

There is no wreath hanging on my door, no lights dangling from the house, or a sparkling tree with thoughtfully wrapped gifts under it. My house remains the same as it always has and so shall I. For there is no holiday cheer in my heart, no Christmas miracles that wait for me. Only the nagging memories of past Christmas’s that pound in the back of my brain that threaten to tear through to my heart. 

I settle myself in the recliner with coffee in hand with the remote in the other. I wander through endless channels in hopes to find a non Christmas show. I eventually settled for my book instead. I read the words of J.K Rowling before being interrupted by a scratching at the door. I open the door to find a peculiar looking cat before me. It’s fluffy black coat is matted with snow and it's missing half of its left ear. Before I am able to close the door the cat bolts through my legs and into my house. 

Great, just what I need to make the day worse: a feral cat running loose in my house. I found it on my kitchen counter eating my fresh baked loaf of bread I made last night. 

“Hey! That’s mine pipsqueak. This house is also mine and I didn’t let you in. Did I?” I yell, snatching the cat and putting him on the floor. He rubs on my legs purring at the warmth. I watch him with my arms crossed before deciding to go throw him back outside. I open the door and pick him up. Just as I’m about to throw him out he meows and looks into my eyes. 

I look at his gold caramel eyes that seem to melt into a dripping mess the longer I look. I’ve only once seen those eyes and they were the eyes of my dearest. I settle him back on the ground and close the door. It's rude not to let a guest stay for dinner I suppose. I run a warm bath before scrubbing the dirt and snow out of his dark jet black coat. I wrap him in an old towel and bring him back to the living room. 

I stop dead in my tracks as I pass a table filled with pictures in the hallway. I stand and stare at the pictures of when I was younger in my 20s before I became the old shell of the woman I used to be. I stare at the little girl with dark hair and caramel eyes full of joy and life. Before catching my own sunken in caramel eyes. I stare at the man with red hair and a face of freckles who wears a smile too big for his face. It takes me back twenty years to a simpler time, a happier one. 

“Mommy I want to put the star on the tree!” I hear Clara yell as she launches herself into me. I scoop her up in my arms, twirling her while she giggles before setting her back down. 

“Not yet, baby. The star goes on last, remember.” I say, booping her nose before going back to hanging ornaments. 

“Fine, I’ll wait.” She huffs, crossing her arms. I laugh at her actions, something she definitely learned from me.

“Why don’t you go see if Daddy needs help with the Christmas lights.” I suggest. She nods excitedly as a smile creeps on her face. She grabs her coat before running out back to help Alan. I hang our little family stockings and finish decorating before calling in Alan and Clara who were very engaged in a snowball fight. 

“Can I put the star up now?” Clara asks impatiently. 

“Of course sweetheart but you might need a boost.” Alan says with a grunt as he hauls Clara’s small 6 year old body onto his shoulders. Clara breaks into a giggle fit as she reaches out her arms to put the star on the tree. I clap for her as she steadies it on the tip of the tree and snap a quick picture. I finish up the dishes from dinner before helping Clara into her Christmas pajamas and running her a bath. I dry her dark hair which matches mine and help her into bed. 

Alan and I tuck her into bed and wish her an almost happy birthday. Her birthday is in a week two days before Christmas. When Alan and I were in highschool we were quite into theater and drama. We both shared an exceptional love for the Nutcracker which we named Clara after. Alan and I got married straight out of highschool and had Clara a year later. She was the perfect Christmas surprise and the name Clara seemed to be almost too perfect for the lovely caramel eyed baby I held in my arms. If only I could go back. 

I find myself smiling at the fond family memory before going to feed the cat. I give him some cat food I found in the garage and he looks at me as if I’ve fed him his own mother.

“Well you’ll have to make do with that or starve.” I say looking down at him with my hands on my hips. He only looks back up with curious eyes. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I find the reality that I'm talking to a cat who has no clue what I'm saying. I must be going mad I think to myself. I eventually give in and give him more bread which seems to please him. I let him out into the back yard so he can relieve himself when something catches my eye. 

A family sits laying in the snow making snow angels with two little kids. Clara loves snow angels; she believes they fly away in the night to heaven and that's why they disappear. I lack the heart to tell her it’s just the wind moving the snow. Clara held the very thing I never had: imagination, her imagination took her millions of places yet I can’t even escape the loop of sadness my life has become. 

“Frankie!” Alan yells throughout the house. 

“Yeah.” I reply, As I continue cutting the tomatoes and celery. 

“Clara and I are gonna go grab some stuff from the store. We'll be back in a bit.” Alan presses a kiss to my cheek mumbling I love you before calling Clara down. 

“Love you, be safe!” I call to them after squeezing Clara in a hug. They walk out the door and I listen to them pull out. It’s been an hour and they’re still not back. I got a bit worried but figured there was just a lot of traffic. It’s been almost two hours when I get a call from Alan’s phone. 

“Thank God I was just about to come looking for you where in God’s great earth have you been?” I ramble but what I hear next silences me. 

“I’m sorry but this is West George hospital, is this Frankie Neil speaking?” The voice on the other end sounds like an older gentleman. 

“Yes, what's going on?” I ask nervously the words getting caught in my throat. 

“Your husband and daughter have been in a car accident.” My ears ring and the world tilts, my face flushes and it goes cold. 

“A-Are they okay?” I ask, my voice cracking a bit. 

“We’re gonna need you to come in and identify the bodies. I’m so sorry about your loss. We did everything we could but unfortunately the injuries were too severe.” I hang up, grab my keys and run to my car. I ran through the hospital doors. I ask the receptionist and she only leads me towards a doctor. Beyond that is a blur. I couldn’t speak I wanted to but I couldn't find the words. I wanted to cry but the tears wouldn’t fall. I prayed the bodies weren’t theirs but no such luck. I look at Alan, his usual rosy cheeks drained of color. A gash running down his cheek. 

Clara is too still; it horrifies me even as a baby she wiggled constantly. I walk out of the hospital yet I don’t get in the car. Instead I sit on the curb. I don’t care that I’m sitting in a mound of snow, I just sit allowing the shock to wear off. I drive home and walk inside. 

I’m fine. I’m fine I tell myself and I was until I saw that stupid tree and the stupid stockings with our names on them. I rip the stockings on the hook. I throw the tree on the floor. I throw presents watching the colors fly through a blurred rage. Then I stop and sink to my knees hugging the stockings as if it’s all I have left. 

My screams pierce the soft December air as I sob. I choke on tears, my vision blurs and my chest aches with what seems equivalent to a gunshot wound. She was only six. My baby died before she even turned seven. I wrap myself in Alan’s old sweater and crawl up onto Clara’s bed soaking in the sweet smell of her hair and breath. I let my tears soak her unicorn pillows and cry until my eyes are swollen. 

The  sunlight blinds my swollen puffy eyes as I crack them open. My chest throbs at the pain it feels as if someone has pried their cold hands into my heart and ripped out the love. My world has shattered and my heart has frozen. I’ve lost it all in the season of family. I rip down everything that has to do with Christmas packing it away forever. I set Clara’s special things in a box and locked her room leaving it exactly how it was. The people I have loved most have broken me yet they haven't said a word they’ve simply left. I want to hate them for leaving me. I want to bring them back and scream at them till my throat is raw and my head aches. 

Even when I try so hard to hate them I can't. I could never hate them although hating them would make this all easier. I can’t help but love them, all my grief is simply the love for them that has no place to go. My grief will boundlessly search for those who it was supposed to love but will cease to find them. I will never get them back. The worst part is I can’t believe that’s true. 

I cry as I pet the caramel eyed cat in my arms. The one who holds the eyes of my beloved Clara. Tomorrow is her birthday. She should be turning 20 instead she’s not here. She would be distraught to see the decorations aren’t up or that I don’t celebrate anymore. She loved Christmas. I just can’t bring myself to pull them back out. It would be like reopening a wound that will always be in the process of healing. Yet I do it anyway not for me but for her and Alan. 

I put up the tree and hung the stockings with the help of my new friend. I find a way to remember her even when she ceases to exist. I walk out onto the porch in the early morning with my coffee enjoying the chilly air against my skin. I look up only to catch a glimpse of an angel. 

I close my eyes and I can see Alan and Clara laying in the snow making angels so they can fly home in the night. They walk hand in hand and somehow I know they’ll be okay. Even as the clouds engulf them Clara looks back only briefly but long enough for me to catch her caramel eyes. I know I’ll be okay, they’ll be waiting on me and one day my mounds of love and grief will find a home.