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Easy ghost of christmas past drawing1/14/2024 I vividly remember my aunt and uncle stomping snow from their shoes which quickly melted into small puddles on the plywood floor. At the time, our house was unfinished, most of the rooms lacked wall and floor covering. Joey and Mike came in out of the snowstorm, dripping wet with half-melted snow. My sister and I immediately sprang from the sofa and ran to the door to unlock it. We immediately recognized the two soggy, snow-covered figures as our youngest aunt and uncle from my mother’s side of the family – Aunt Joey and Uncle Mike. As we were watching TV, two large figures appeared outside the door and began knocking on the window and tugging the door handle to gain entrance. Then about 11:30 PM, something wonderful happened.ĭirectly to the left of our TV set was a large, sliding, glass door. We all sat quietly on the sofa contemplating the night’s events and anticipating an unusual Christmas. The heavy wet snow continued to fall, piling into a thick layer that blanked all objects in our yard. But I couldn’t imagine that happening this Christmas Day. We then had a big Christmas dinner later in the afternoon. We usually spent the morning opening gifts and playing with toys. In the previous eight Christmases, my parents had always made sure we had lots of presents and a lot of good food. As I had no idea of the seriousness of my father’s condition, my nine-year-old thoughts naturally focused on what the following day would have in store for me. Inside, we were watching a Christmas special or something and I was trying to imagine what might happen the next morning. Heavy wet snow was beginning to fall outside and accumulations were expected to top ten inches. She quickly recovered when I entered the room. I eventually went downstairs to find my Great Aunt quietly sobbing on the couch. I remember the banging of suitcases down the steps and out the door and the red tail lights of our family wagon leaving the driveway, then everything went quiet. She also told me that my father wasn’t himself. She told me that my elderly great-aunt would be staying with us and that Christmas would come as usual the next morning. Then about an hour later my mother entered my room and said that she and my father were returning to the hospital in Pittsburgh. Out of fear, I remained huddled in my bed. Back- Mom: Carole, Brother: Tim, Dad: Basil, That’s the last memory I have of my father. His head fell into his hands as he leaned into my bed and he began to cry. But just as he began to swing, he suddenly caught himself and dropped the rail on the bed in front of me. I crouched in the corner as far as I could at the far side of the bed and brace myself for a severe blow from the heavy maple rail. He then pulled the safety rail off the front of the bed and raised it high in the air intending to hit me. I quickly scrambled into my top bunk bed to escape him. He chased me up the steps and into my room. It was the first time I remember being scared of him. What I do remember is that my father flew into a rage as I had never seen before. I may have been fighting with my sister or one of my brothers, I don’t remember. Sometime in the late afternoon, I did something trivial that caused him to fly into a rage. But on Christmas Eve, my father’s condition took a turn for the worse. My mom had festively decorated the house, the tree was up and ladened with lights and ornaments, and my father had even managed to hang a few strings of lights in the trees and bushes around the house. The week of Christmas, things seemed normal. The adults whispered more and sent the children into other rooms to play while they talked. His normal quiet and introspective temperament gave way to flashes of agitation. He gained weight from the medication he was taking. I only knew he wasn’t himself and he and my mom were making a lot of trips to the hospitals in Pittsburgh.Īs Christmas drew near, his condition worsened. My mother felt it best not to disclose the details of my father’s terminal disease to me or my three siblings. In February, my father was diagnosed with leukemia and given something like six months to live. But in the Spring of 1968, my life changed in profound ways and Christmas has never been the same. For me, the season is always very contemplative and a little melancholy. Of all the holidays, Christmas is my least favorite.
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