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Christmas Yet to Come
Jenna was getting sicker and sicker. Her face was ash grey now, and the coughing fits, when they came, took her over in the same way the Santa Ana winds would toss about the branches of the big elm outside. Still though, she had nothing but brave little smiles for Ralph, brave smiles and small, dry kisses that she pressed onto his hands or his cheek as he bent over her, watching, concerned, helpless.
She spent her days on the blue overstuffed couch in the living room. The couch had big pink flowers splashed over it that Jenna had never liked. She had always meant to get a different one, something more chic, more modern. Oh well, at least that wouldn’t be an annoyance anymore. You see, there always was a positive.
Her nights, Jenna spent curled up in bed next to Ralph. The visiting nurse had suggested buying a hospital bed, had informed Ralph in soothing tones of concern that the Medicare would pay for its cost. But Jenna was comfortable in their bed, and Ralph couldn’t bear the thought of kicking her out of it for his own comfort. So he listened to her coughing and her labored breathing and reached out in the dark hours of the early morning, fumbling, lonely, to hold her thin hand between his.
One crisp cool morning, Ralph stepped from the house and realized that fall had arrived. The trees were golden and dry, and the air had that still crisp quality to it and that hint of motion soon to come that heralded the arrival of autumn and winds. Just a few weeks now, the nurse said. Ralph wondered how long Jenna would make it. What would he ever do without her?
Staring off into space, lost in his musings about the uncertain future, Ralph had an idea. Yes, it would take some time, but he had the whole day.
That night, when Ralph lifted Jenna up to carry her to bed, he walked out the front door instead.
“There’s something I want you to see,” he said in his gruff voice.
Their Christmas decorations filled the front yard. Red, blue, gold and green lights festooned the branches of the fir. Candy canes and snowmen leapt along the walk. And in the center of the grass was Jenna’s favorite piece, the lighted outline of a sleigh they had bought together at Costco the year Ralph retired. Bulbs flashed on and off to give the illusion that the horses’ hooves were moving, and that the sleigh was gliding along over fields of ice, just as Jenna remembered real sleighs doing in her girlhood in Nebraska. It always made her smile.
“Oh, Ralph, but it’s only September.”
“That’s okay, my girl. I had some extra time and I wanted to get a head start.”
Jenna smiled and gave his arm a quick squeeze. Tears shone in her brown eyes. They both knew what Ralph wasn’t saying. December seemed a long, long way away from September, especially for her.
Jenna was getting sicker and sicker. Her face was ash grey now, and the coughing fits, when they came, took her over in the same way the Santa Ana winds would toss about the branches of the big elm outside. Still though, she had nothing but brave little smiles for Ralph, brave smiles and small, dry kisses that she pressed onto his hands or his cheek as he bent over her, watching, concerned, helpless.
She spent her days on the blue overstuffed couch in the living room. The couch had big pink flowers splashed over it that Jenna had never liked. She had always meant to get a different one, something more chic, more modern. Oh well, at least that wouldn’t be an annoyance anymore. You see, there always was a positive.
Her nights, Jenna spent curled up in bed next to Ralph. The visiting nurse had suggested buying a hospital bed, had informed Ralph in soothing tones of concern that the Medicare would pay for its cost. But Jenna was comfortable in their bed, and Ralph couldn’t bear the thought of kicking her out of it for his own comfort. So he listened to her coughing and her labored breathing and reached out in the dark hours of the early morning, fumbling, lonely, to hold her thin hand between his.
One crisp cool morning, Ralph stepped from the house and realized that fall had arrived. The trees were golden and dry, and the air had that still crisp quality to it and that hint of motion soon to come that heralded the arrival of autumn and winds. Just a few weeks now, the nurse said. Ralph wondered how long Jenna would make it. What would he ever do without her?
Staring off into space, lost in his musings about the uncertain future, Ralph had an idea. Yes, it would take some time, but he had the whole day.
That night, when Ralph lifted Jenna up to carry her to bed, he walked out the front door instead.
“There’s something I want you to see,” he said in his gruff voice.
Their Christmas decorations filled the front yard. Red, blue, gold and green lights festooned the branches of the fir. Candy canes and snowmen leapt along the walk. And in the center of the grass was Jenna’s favorite piece, the lighted outline of a sleigh they had bought together at Costco the year Ralph retired. Bulbs flashed on and off to give the illusion that the horses’ hooves were moving, and that the sleigh was gliding along over fields of ice, just as Jenna remembered real sleighs doing in her girlhood in Nebraska. It always made her smile.
“Oh, Ralph, but it’s only September.”
“That’s okay, my girl. I had some extra time and I wanted to get a head start.”
Jenna smiled and gave his arm a quick squeeze. Tears shone in her brown eyes. They both knew what Ralph wasn’t saying. December seemed a long, long way away from September, especially for her.
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