Christmas Love

Just the mention of one's mom and my mind's eye immediately sees your face and tears rise. How could it be that it has been eighteen years since we last talked? To simply say, I miss you would be an understatement. The hole in my chest has never healed, nor found matter to fill the void left that dreadful early morning looking on as you breathed your last.

Christmas with poinsettias will always remind me of you. A Christmas Eve anniversary for you and Dad, the red leaves were a symbol of your love for each other and a staple among our holiday decorations. The crimson potted plant sat on top of the TV cabinet or your sewing machine cabinet. Although, the sewing machine cabinet would not be its pedestal until company arrived, because you were likely sewing some dress or pair of pajamas for yourself, me or my boys. Your sewing machine now rests in one of my bedrooms. Your presence is felt as I stand near the machine, thinking of the many bridesmaid dresses, school clothes and pajamas you painstakingly stitched as the machine needle quickly plunged in and out of the fabric. The clickety-clack of the Singer lives in my mind and I see you seated in the little chair during late night and all day marathons diligently sewing as a special event approaches.

As this Christmas season wraps us in ribbon, toys, and the joys of being with family, I'm nostalgic with memories of you, apron clad, standing in our kitchen mixing up tasty pies and candies. No one could infuse as much joy and love in their baking as you did, especially during the Christmas season. Oh, to recreate those warm feelings of safety, love and acceptance I felt on chilly mornings in our kitchen, your eyes brimming with love for all of us, serving breakfast while baking pies and cakes for the holidays! Always busy, you embodied the woman of noble character.
Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all. - Proverbs 31

Dedicated to my mother, Louise Bernice Bond Ritchey b. 03/02/21, d. 05/04/93.