The Christmas Light

The old woman sat by her second-story window and stared out at nothing. Her tattered shawl
matched her tattered soul as she daydreamed of Christmas' past. Her gray hair bun matched
the sky.

She allowed herself a rare smile; facial lines tightened into datelines, like tree rings. Old. Real old.

Her mind played out her childhood, then adolescence, and then her marriage to her long-gone
husband. She could see her infant son, suckling contentedly at her bosom. As her memory
fast-forwarded to the day he enlisted in the Army, she tried to hit pause. But the scenes
continued marching on to a cruel drumbeat.

The doorbell announced the death party. A young Army officer, neatly attired in his crisp,
green uniform was accompanied by a chaplain. Both looked very sad. The young one looked
scared. It was his first death notification.

She heard, "We regret to inform you..." and then went deaf. The chaplain put his arm around
her and helped her sit down. The young officer stood ramrod straight, but his head hung
down with the knowledge that he would repeat this ghoulish mission again and again.

Vietnam, 1969.
She tried to put this one scene out of her mind, but it was crystal clear from continued
playbacks over the last forty years.

Picking up her fine China tea cup, she sipped some hot, spicy tea and resumed her life's
review. The aroma was therapeutic, changing the scene unconsciously and shifting her back
to Christmas day, 1960. Her husband and her thirteen-year-old son were in the living room,
the new console stereo radio playing the same holiday songs in a musical Mobius loop.

Everyone was smiling, the tree beamed bright lights from its very large bulbs. She now
zoomed in on the bubbling candles that were so popular then, real pine needles gently
cradling them. Her son thanked them both for the new transistor radio that was shaped like
a baseball. White, with red simulated stitching, the plastic ball hung from a key chain.

He would be the envy of his friends!

The warm scene faded, despite her attempts to hold onto it. Just a little bit longer,
please, she implored.

Now she stood before the coffin, her son laid out in his Army dress uniform, almost looking
like the young Army officer who delivered the terrible news. Red and white Poinsettias
surrounded the coffin like silent sentinels, standing guard for the long line of red-eyed
friends and family. It was Christmas day, 1969. Just another day in the year, but it had
to be this day, she thought.

The minister droned on about how God loves the fallen soldier and her son is now in His
hands. Too stunned and cynical to listen, she just stared at her son in the aisle next to
her.

A loud horn below shook her out of her memories. She laughed at herself, wondering why she
does this. But she was more curious about why she focused so much on Christmas past today?

After giving it a little thought, she surmised it must be because today is Christmas. Just
a natural thing to do.

Shifting in her wooden chair, she scanned the street scene below. That's when she noticed
someone in an Army uniform, walking along the snow-covered sidewalk on the other side. It
was a young man and he had the same build as her son.

She squinted her ancient eyes to get a better look. He turned and faced her direction; the
cloudy day became brighter. And brighter. He walked toward her building, smiling, stepping
out of a radiant beam. He waved, imploring her to come...