The Ghost of Christmases past paid me a visit last night, leaving me more than a little blue and Scrooge like.
After five minutes of tears and reflections on holidays gone by, I pulled myself together enough to write a donation to the home that so lovingly cared for my husband Richard prior to his move into hospice.
Afterwards, I tried reading for a while, nibbling on Brie cheese and crackers.
But I remained restless, so I searched instead for something good on TV.
There was nothing.
Not even Christmas music.
So where was my rerun of “It’s a Wonderful Life” when I needed it most?
Shutting off the Christmas lights trimming the front door, I saw even the weatherman had let me down.
His empty promises of a white Christmas were quickly washing away in the cold rain.
Surrendering finally to the fog, Tucker the terrier and my matronly corgi Maddie escorted me back to the drafty bedroom for a long winter’s nap.
Once the long canine duet of snoring subsided, I drifted off to sleep.
At 4am I suddenly heard beautiful bells, ringing louder and louder as I began to wake.
Sweet sounds of softly spoken words were also in the distance, with the familiar French accent of a dear friend of Richard’s. But I was too slow to pick up the phone before my answering machine did the honors.
I was however awake enough to hear the last few words of his salutation.
“And I give you a kiss!”
I’m thinking Richard was behind that message from Paris, I told the dogs this morning.
His surprise Christms gifts from work trips to France were always the very best.
My little clan nodded in agreement, and each then kissed my hand.
I in turn, gave each of the dogs a big hug and a bite of my Christmas croissant, smiling.