New Year ... A New Year: prt Two

Christmas morning.

I can hear the footsteps of kids running around upstairs, and the footsteps of my mom and auntie who have been up for hours preparing Christmas dinner. I want to get up and join them, but I have no energy in my body; and so I lay wide-eyed in my bed in the basement.

I stare off into the basement where my bed lies; tucked away in a corner of an unfinished basement, separated by mere blankets tacked up to the ceiling to provide a false solitude. The more footsteps I hear on the cieling abover push me further into an unwanted sleep.

Moments later, I am awake again, ripping myself from the bed sheets and forcing one foot beyond the other. It takes all energy, what little of it I have, to climb up the basement starewell. And as I pass the final step, the peak, a joyous "Merry Christmas" and shouted by my neice. I smile. I join my family in the kitchen as our Christmas dinner is ready, early this year so that we may be able to join other relatives for a greater family dinner later on.

Its the first time my brother and his family spent the night at my mothers for Christmas in years. They didn't really have to since they only live one town away. But my mother offered, knowing the trip they made the night earlier. Perhaps out of guilt they obliged; perhaps not. Either way, they are here, and I'm glad for it.

My younger brother is already here, with his son. And as we all gather around the feast that I'm sure my mother and my aunt slaved over, a different air is present. All family is here except one, my older sister.

And with that, I glance over at her daughter, my neice, who is playing with her cousin as if nothing has changed. I draw back my tears as my mother finishes her prayer.

We open gifts, exchange laughs and harmless insults; and go through almost with ease our first different Christmas.