The Last Christmas

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The Last Christmas

by Andrea Lena Dimaggio


 
We sat at the kitchen table. The apartment smelled of cigarettes and stale coffee. Even after eight months, the place wasn't free of the stench of the past. She was fairly strong that day, sitting at the table, only a few weeks from her death. Seventy isn't too short a life, is it? Living in the shadow of abuse and neglect had become a way of life in our family, and had extended beyond my father's death two years before

"I'm sorry, honey....I never knew how much it hurt you (and my sibs) that I stayed with your father." She started to cry; the only time in my adult life that I saw her do that. God knows she had every reason to cry every day. Her father abandoned her and her siblings and mother when she was still in grammar school. She quit school in ninth grade to help support the family; and she married a volatile but passionate man eleven years her senior.

Their relationship was up and down all through their marriage, and it did nothing but hurt me and my sibs. There were good times; almost every family has some, I suppose, but I'd be sorely pressed to remember them.

"Mommy...what's wrong?" I asked...her expression had changed, and she was sad and almost scared at the same time. She looked at me almost apologetically and said,

"I know what he did to me and you (us)...but there's...part of me....that..." She paused and blinked out the tears and sipped her coffee. She hadn't turned her back on that one remaining vice.

"There's still part of me that loves him." She wept again, this time harder, and she grabbed my arm while covering her face with her other hand. At one time, I would have been angry at her confession, considering what my dad had done to all of us. But he had made his peace with us and her a long time before. Nothing really would have ever compensated for the havoc wreaked upon our family, but the reconciliation helped to begin the healing that still is being worked out to this day, years later.

"Mommy...it's okay...I still love him, too." Odd to say, perhaps but true none the less.

Since we were being honest with each other, it came to me that I owed her as much to be truthful. I had a secret I had held from almost everyone; my ex-wife knew, as well as a counselor of mine in upstate New York. I don't know why..or least I didn't until I spoke, but I felt almost compelled to seek her forgiveness; absolution for decades of shame and guilt. I swallowed hard and said softly, trying hard and failing not to cry.

"Mom..." The word "mommy" didn't seem appropriate at the moment. "I've got something I've got to tell you..."

"Dougie...why are you crying...what's wrong." My mother always called me "Dougie."

"I....when...." I paused and used a napkin to wipe my tears.

"When I was thirteen....I think...maybe fourteen...I'm not sure..." I started to cry again. She reached over and put her hand on my arm, which gave me the strength to continue.

"I...used to sneak in...your closet." She looked at me with the kindest expression I can ever remember, as if to say, "It's okay," even though she just smiled through her own tears.

"I....wooo....wore your clothes." The floodgates opened and I put my head on my arms on the table and cried in front of my mother like I had never before; not when my dad died, not when I messed up my first marriage; not even when she told me she was dying. As I wept, her hand touched my arm. My mother was never a physically affectionate woman, having been neglected in that manner by her parents and my father. She rubbed my arm and squeezed my wrist, as if to say, "Look at me," even though she was silent. I sat up and wiped my face and looked at her.

"Dougie....I know" Not the "I know how hard this is for you, but I know already." I looked at her and to this day I don't even know if I asked how, but she told me this one thing.

"Honey..." Perhaps the only time she called me that, ever. "I'm your mother...you could never keep a secret from me." She smiled through her tears and said, "I don't think boys could ever keep a secret from their moms."

Nothing else other than another squeeze of the arm and a final smile. No questions, no talk, but that one last smile, almost enigmatic, like the Mona Lisa, was a gift, the last gift I ever got from my mom...she accepted me and still loved me, and after all that, I was still her son.

She died about five weeks later, finally succumbing to the cancer that had spread throughout her body; nine months from diagnosis to death. And I cried that day...I still cry on occasion, even perhaps as I write this. Toys and model planes and clothing I actually liked, from when I was small all the way up to cards and hugs from a woman who hated hugs when I grew older. But the greatest gift she ever gave me; given almost as a blessing instead of just "that's okay," a smile that approved of me wearing her dress years before. She grew up broken, ashamed and almost bitter, but became a loving caring person through what she'd been through. I often think of what she might have turned out as if she hadn't been hurt the way she did. We often give gifts in exchange; almost a barter or a swap...a tie for a necklace, a bike for a pair of socks or a tie. Well, it's almost Christmas...several weeks away I suppose, ads and billboards not withstanding. But since it is a time of restoration and hope, and since I never got the chance to give her anything after her gift to me. Mommy...that smile meant the world to me...the best Christmas gift ever got; acceptance, love, approval, validation...

So here's your gift, Mommy. You never got the chance to be everything you could be, so this is for you. Maybe, like some of us believe, you're in heaven right now and much stronger and happier and healthier and prettier than you ever were here, so here's a picture of how I see you now...maybe how you might have turned out if someone treated you the way you treated me that last time in November.

Helen Dorcas MacDonald....1923-1993...Thanks Mommy...love you so much!

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Comments

It's Never Too Late

When you look in the mirror, who do you see? If you're like me there are at least three people staring back at you.

She's there in you. It's not hard to reach out and talk.

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

True Love

Has conquered a world of hatred. Now to let the healing be complete. But that will take time to let the old hurts go.

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine
    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

Thank you

It's been over 10 years since I lost my mother, and not a day goes by that I don't think of her.

Thank you for this look through your eyes back to your Mom.

Janice

I often ask my brother, sometimes about my sister,

Andrea Lena's picture

...but also about my mom; and he feels the same way. As long as we can still remember their voices. I hope this blessed you. Thanks.

She was born for all the wrong reasons but grew up for all the right ones.
Possa Dio riccamente vi benedica, tutto il mio amore, Andrea

  

To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle
Love, Andrea Lena

Dear Drea...

...I envy you and all that had a mother available to them. These are the sort of images I wish I had. Unfortuantely I don't have any memories other than her sleeping, or drinking. So I take a measure of comfort in your memories and in this wonderful tale.

All Strength to You...

Your Lil' Irish Brat

P.S. I love the flower

You have done it again,Andrea,

ALISON

'you have made me into a blubbering mess once again when
I think of my own dear Mum and what she meant to me.
You are right,you can't keep secrets from your Mother,
especially if you are a boy who likes to dress in Mumma's
clothes!God bless you,dear one,you give such joy,as my
Mother gave to me.May The Light shine upon you.ALISON

ALISON

It's almost obscene...

...the way in which Drea can hit those all so sensitive little buttons and bring tears to your eyes. She has a way with words and can paint those emotions so honestly. Blessed be.

May Her Words Never Cease...

Hugs to you Alison, Kelly

A gift doesn't have to be

A gift doesn't have to be something you can touch. It can take many forms; forgiveness, hope, acceptance, friendship, love.

I told my father about myself, and he said "I'm glad that your mother never knew." I simply said that she did, she must have. He was silent; he had nothing to say in response.

Thank you, Andrea, for this. A mother's love is sometimes deeper than we can ever imagine.

Susie

Thank you

Andrea, Thank you for this nice Christmas Gift. Memories, good and not so good, regrets as well are often all we can carry with us into tomorrow. Hugs, Wendy Marie

Wendy Marie

deep and meaningful

You have the ability to express such deep emotions..... never, ever, lose that!
Love, Ginger. xx

What a special Mother!

Andrea,

I loved your story----I had a very special mother who loved and accepted me as well. She passed away 10 years ago and I feel her presence every day. I wish I had written a story as nice as your story expressing her love and acceptance.

A very impressive...

...little tale that says much in a very refined and yet emotional way. This type of piece requires at least two or three readings to glean every little drop of literary gold. Plus I do so love a happy ending with all the emotional soppiness that goes with it.
Brava!

Forgiving

joannebarbarella's picture

Possibly the greatest gift,
Joanne

An Unfortunate Fact

is that many of us do not realise just how wonderful our Mothers were until after we have lost them for ever.

I know to my undying shame that this is so for me.

At her funeral, I was adamant that there should not be a religious ceremony, as my Mother was like me a total atheist. My dear Sister had meanwhile married a man who was one of those "born again" Christians, narrow-minded and intolerant and all that goes with it. We managed to fix it that, though there was a service of sorts in a church, there was no sermon, instead, we sibs both wrote a short life story of our Mummy, with all the funniest stories in it that she had told us often as we grew up, that someone read out for us. The audience - or should I say congreation? - were all in fits of laughter, and even the minister told me afterwards that it had been good and he thought it had given everyone who had known her the release they needed.

I do not count the years since then - it was certainly more than ten though, and I can see her before me still, as though it were yesterday, even at 89 she used to have her hair done regularly, used make-up and flirted with the men. And so good was she - she did all the shopping for her neighbours, most of whom were younger than she, she entertained them all by playing the piano in the community hall when they all met for afternoon teas, she was the life and soul of the place. Her foto is on my desk still, and we have conversations inside my head every day. I do so miss her smile, her love, and her concerned advice.

Some folk say that time heals all things, but this will never heal. Life is lonely without my Mother. Death is Life's last, cruellest joke on us.

Briar

Briar

Keeping Secrets from Moms

terrynaut's picture

I did it. I kept my transgender self a secret from my mother. She never realized I wore her clothes, not until I told her a few years ago.

She was surprised, and she cried a little. She said she actually preferred a son. That hurt.

This is a very nice little story. It got me sniffling a little. Thanks for the emotional release.

- Terry

Thanks for sharing this....

My father was the same way. He passed away three years ago, but my mom still loved him. And he made peace with the rest of us.

And I did the same things when I was a boy, but never confessed it to my mother, who is very much still living.

It was very touching, thank you.

Hugs,
Torey

oh wow

three hankie story hun. beautiful, touching, and moving.

DogSig.png

Forgivness...

Ole Ulfson's picture

Is a gift to the forgiven, but an even greater gift to the forgiver. If you can really forgive and let all the pain go it cleanses your soul. The the release of the poison is palpable and allows the spirit to soar.

Bless you, dear Andrea

Ole

We are each exactly as God made us. God does not make mistakes!

Gender rights are the new civil rights!