Vignette #3
A bright red poinsettia nestled in her arms spoke vividly against the sunless cemetery. The lampposts illuminated the grounds merrily with the help of twinkling red and green lights snaked around their iron bodies. Wreaths with red berries and ribbon hung from the same posts. Evergreens that sprinkled the grounds glittered with baubles and bells. The groundskeeper had a keen hand for making the cemetery feel lighter – happier maybe – during the holidays. It was peaceful. The only sound to be heard was the distant song of the cardinals and the carolers down the street. The night of Christmas Eve had left the cemetery quiet, leaving a freshly widowed woman alone with her late husband’s headstone.
“Hi dear,” Her smile curled sorrowfully, and she placed the poinsettia down on the upturned earth. “Merry Christmas.” Her heart swelled in the presence of her husband, and she sighed. Her breath fogged in the dusky blue sky and she watched as it curled and vanished among the littering of stars.
She sat for a moment with her husband, her eyes tracing the engravings on the stone. Just 365 days ago, his presence was beside her – physical and real. He was supposed to be here with her, right now. Hanging up garlands of dried oranges on the mantle. Wrapping the tree in popcorn and laughing at the ratty skirt they still wrapped around its feet. She would bake her gooey rum bread pudding and apple crumb cake. The smell of clove and nutmeg would saunter around the halls, accompanied by a slight smoke from candles they lit in the dining and living room. And yet, she was kneeling in a cemetery on Christmas eve. There was a chill in the air, but it was warm in his arms. Whether they were really there or not.
She knew one thing to be universally true, grief is the last thing you hold onto of a person. She wished the grief would stay with her, because it was all the unexpressed love she still held for him. And calling that grief a form of love made it rest easier on the thick of her breastbone. She was grateful to be here with him, in spirit. The warmth it brought fought the chill in the air, but tonight it hurt. It was the first of his favourite holiday she wouldn’t get to spend next to him – that realization melting into her chest. At that moment, something brushed the tip of her nose. Brushing her wrinkled hand against it to ease the tickle, she looked up. It was snowing. Small flurries of frozen light twirled down to the earth like thousands of sugar plum fairies. It was as if the stars had tripled and began to dance. They rested on the woolen scarf wrapped around her shoulders, one landing on her lip, and she felt her husband. She wasn’t alone, he was right here with her wishing her a Merry Christmas in the snow – sending signs of hope.