CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 29: THE CHRISTMAS BOX
December arrived.
Against all expectations, my mother improved.
Not completely.
But enough to come home for Christmas.
Ella was ecstatic.
She decorated every room with far too many lights.
On Christmas Eve, my mother brought out a small wooden box.
"I want to show you something."
Inside were ornaments.
Old ones.
Each had a name and a year written on the back.
I picked one up.
Mine.
Samantha found hers too.
There were dozens of them.
Every Christmas ornament we had ever made as children.
"You kept all of these?" I asked.
My mother looked surprised.
"Of course."
I laughed softly.
"You're a secret hoarder."
She smiled.
"I suppose I am."
Then she became serious.
"I kept them because every year with you mattered."
The room grew quiet.
She looked at us.
"I wasn't always good at saying things."
No one argued.
"But every year mattered."
I held the ornament tightly.
Some people say I love you with words.
Others say it with boxes full of memories.
That night, we hung every ornament on the tree.
It looked ridiculous.
Nothing matched.
Everything was old.
It was perfect.
As we stood there, my mother whispered:
"This is my favorite Christmas."
May you like
I looked at her.
"Mine too."
