Shadow Blessing

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This week’s tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of the Corgi Capers mystery series.

This month’s prompt is to write about the darkness of this time of year.

 

Shadow Blessing

by Val Muller

 

For Anna, the merriment had gotten darker as the years went on. It was just like her grandma said, after all. The holidays were for children. When your children grew up, what was the point? That was grandma' opinion. But somehow Anna had managed to be even darker than her grandmother.

Anna had lost the holiday magic even while her children were still young. There was just a never-ending list of things to do; and somehow she managed to grow up without anyone ever telling her that all the Christmas magic basically came from the mother. It was not made of sugar and spice and candy canes or anything like that. It was made of her own sweat and tears and blood.

Who needed that?

She knew too that it had to do with the darkness of the year. There was something about the lack of the Sun and the time change, the darkness setting in earlier than ever. She spent all the daylight hours at work and came home to the night. As it had done for generations of humans before, the darkness pushed her indoors. And that emphasized the mess of her house, the fact that it was not neat like in the magazines.

The children too could not be sent outside in the dark, and that made the house even messier. How was she supposed to host Thanksgiving and Christmas with the house constantly being a mess? Barely time for anything. It was the worst, and she could barely wait until spring.

So one morning as she woke and thought ahead to the weekend and all the cleaning that it would entail, she realized that her alarm had not woken her. Someone was screaming, and it was not the usual child, the young one. It was the older one, and he was screaming in agony. This was more than just a bad dream.

She ran into his room to find him in fetal position on the bed holding his intestines. She thought at first it must be the stomach bug. That can cause cramping. But it didn’t go away with bathroom use and it didn’t go away with drinking. It didn’t go away with moving. It could be his appendix. Or worse.

She and her husband exchanged glances and acted with few words. He took him to the ER while she stayed with the other children.

The oldest, who usually did her best to torment him, turned somber and wanted to call him through her dad’s phone, wanted to wish him well and tell him that she loved him. She got ready easily that morning and was compliant and kind.

The youngest asked after her brother. And now instead of worrying about cleaning, Anna feared the worst. What if there was an emergency? What if he never came home? What would she tell a child too young to understand? What would she tell a child old enough to mourn?

When she finally dropped the other two off and made her way to the hospital, Anna still had plans of going into work. After all, not being at work would mean she would fall behind, and despite the situation the nagging feeling of an unclean house ate at her subconscious.

But when she got to the hospital and saw the fear in her boy’s eyes, she decided not to work. She called in. Everyone at work would survive without her. She was needed here. A little piece of her thought that after he was released, as of course he would be soon, she would go home and clean. That justified time off work.

Six hours of testing, and all thoughts of cleaning went away. The hospital room was dark. Dank. People didn’t stay here. They were triaged and saved. Or not. She watched him snuggle onto the blanket, content she was there. She was his light.

It was not the appendix. It was not the kidneys. It was not the bladder. It was nothing but good old-fashioned constipation, a condition that can really wreak havoc on a young small gut. He would be given a prescription for a colon cleanse and he would be monitored. But he would be okay. It was 6 hours of tests but he was okay.

He had not eaten since the night before and neither had any of them, so they decided to let him choose, and he picked the restaurant in town with the slowest service. Anna didn’t even think to convince him otherwise. It was his choice and that’s where they would eat.

By the time they got home, it would be time to turn around and pick up the other two children. She would have gotten no work done for her job, no cleaning done for the house, no exercise done for herself, nothing. But that was okay. Her son was okay.

The rest of the week was a blur. Nothing that usually stressed her out seemed important. The house didn’t seem so messy anymore. It was easier to throw things out that were cluttery, and the things that were cluttered didn’t even matter. It wasn’t yet Thanksgiving and she would not have ever considered decorating the house for Christmas, but there was just something about the joyousness of him being okay. The family being together. The oldest being so kind to him and the youngest dancing happily to a silly pickle song he played on his tablet when he got home.

She brought out the Christmas lights and decorated the house while they slept. They would awaken to a magical Christmas in November, and they would be so excited that their teachers would wonder what in the world was going on at their house.

And that was okay.

The thing that was going on at their house was a little bit of Christmas magic. Magic that had been lost to the darkness but had been reawakened by a brush with the shadows.

 

The Spot Writers–Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/