Sirrus Poe
He turned
eight the May before and was ready to see his brother and
sister during the Christmas holidays. He knew
things were not as they should be between him and his mother, but had hopes
that this year things would begin to change. Things were bound to
begin to get better; after all, he knew
nothing about the truth of their stress to this point
in his life. This was
Christmas and a time to rejoice in seeing those that
he missed; even his
mother was included in that emotion.
He saw
his siblings only twice a year and this was one of them and he
planned on making it a good one. He prayed before
leaving his dad back
there alone in their home. He prayed of forgiveness
for what his mother
had done to him, or at least what he was able to gather
from ease dropping in
on adult conversations. He wanted God to know
that he forgave her and wanted God to forgive her. He wanted a chance
to become a mother and son again. He wished to become a part of their family.
Why could he not have two families? She
was his mother and mothers were supposed to love their children.
He prayed for the strength to show that he could be a good kid just like
his brother and sister. He promised to never do whatever it was that
made her hate him when he was younger.
The time
had come. The four of them sitting around the tree ready
to open presents from one another before Santa came
that night. His brother opened his present. It was a wonderful
electronic game filled with hours of pure fun. His sister opened
hers: a beautiful new Barbie and a car for her to
drive around the room dreaming up fantasies.
His mother grabbed his gift
and handed it to him with a tooth filled grin.
Their time
together seemed different this year. Somehow it seemed
as God might of been listening and answered his prayers.
He returned her smile, both mirror images of the other. He planned
to cherish this because things were starting to turn around. The
package was small in his hands, but
great things come in small packages. He ripped
the paper open thrilled that this was all happening now. He tore
the brown paper bag wrapping, unlike his brother’s and sister’s shiny wrapping,
in strips revealing his prize.
He looked
at the present, fighting back the unwelcome tears urging
him to cry. It was a faded paint by number picture
of the Pink Panther doing a little dance and signed in a ragged hand by
someone he never knew. He
looked up at his mother and continued to smile.
This was a start.