The last christmas
By: Juanita Gonzalez Moreno
The smell of cookies and hot cocoa filled the air, gifts were lying all around the tree, I was wearing my Christmas outfit, and my family and I were gathered around the chimney. Everything gave a vibe of Christmas and joy. However, for me, it was the first Christmas where the beautiful pink bubble where I lived popped, and I was left to experience the world without filters.
He was lying in his bed, with his eyes closed. He seemed calm, and yet I couldn't recognize the man that had made me laugh so many times. Christmas was my favorite time of the year, but somehow it seemed as if he was the fuel of the Christmas spirit in the house because I couldn't feel a little bit of joy rushing through my veins. We were gathered at the table, eating turkey, but to be honest, I was not there, I was lost in my memories of past Christmas, wondering where that joy went. In those beautiful thoughts, the man lying in his bed, my grandpa, was standing up and had that beautiful smile of his painted across his face. His magnetic and charming personality, which had always made him special, was at its brightest. I could see the joy in his face and how just his presence made the room merrier and gleeful. Then, I woke up from the trance I had put myself in, and reality hit me like a truck, he was sick, and we all knew the end was near.
Gathered around the tree, we were receiving gifts. You will expect a child to enjoy such a moment, but I was still lost in my memories as if I was watching the most mesmerizing movie of them all. In those scenes, I saw him standing, he had a gift in his hands, and as always, he called my cousins and me to sit around the tree. I remember his voice, loud and clear. It was perfect for the designated Santa of the family. He called us one by one and gave us our gifts. I remember smiling and thinking that was the best day of my life. He honestly was the definition of a man that never lost the spirit, the dreams, the hopes of a child. He was my role model, and everything that I loved concentrated on one man. Now lucid, I stood up and went to the room where he lied in the bed, cancer was consuming him physically, but when I heard him talk, I realized he was the same loving grandfather that he had always been. I sat beside him, and he took his phone out and showed me one of Pavarotti’s concerts. He began to talk about the magic of music, and although his voice seemed tired, I could still perceive his passion and vitality.
That Christmas marked a milestone in my life, and from that moment, life was never the same. My grandfather passed away the following January and took with him a part of my heart, as well as I took with me a part of his soul. As sad as I was, I'm sure he is somehow with me; he is with me when I listen to Pavarotti's concerts, he is with me when I read books, he is with me when I need a hug. My grandfather passed away, but I like to think that he left so much in me that he always stands by my side. I will always cherish each memory that I have of that beautiful soul; his memory is the fuel of my Christmas spirit, and although his last Christmas hurt, I owe him to live this holiday in the same way he did.