My Son’s First Christmas

Earlier today, as a matter of fact it was the wee hours of the morning before even the sun had dared show its face, I posted about my brother. About my melancholy. About my anger at his killer. At his fiance. At the world in general. I had written about how this was my family’s, my mother’s, first Christmas without him.

But I had also said it was my son’s first Christmas.

My brother never got to meet his nephew, born 4 days after what would have been my brother’s 37th birthday.

My son will turn 10 months old 2 days from now. Today, he learned the magic of Santa. He saw a Spongebob doll as big as he is. A Whinnie the Pooh rocking horse also as big as he is. His bright blue eyes looked on a plethora of toys from his favorite cartoon shows. And they widened in excitement and wonder. He shouted, he clapped, he screamed in delight.

And that is how I found my joy today. Watching my son shred the wrapping paper, try to eat it, and then slobber all over his Spongebob Squarepants doll. While wearing a matching Spongebob onesie.

Today I spent most of my time in the kitchen cooking. Making pies and baking my first ever ham. In the background I had the Doctor Who Christmas Specials from years past playing. I managed to get through David Tennant’s first episode in which he hardly featured. Then onwards through Donna Noble’s disastrous wedding. From there I rode the Space Titanic as it nearly plummeted into Buckingham Palace. Then back in time to Victorian London to see Cybermen try to raise a Cyber King.

And all the while I thought of my brother. Had it not been for his interest in Doctor Who as a kid, my mom wouldn’t have bribed me with and thus saved me from myself nearly 10 years ago. It felt like he was there with me in the kitchen, just chillin while I made pie, ham, and mashed taters.

This was a much better christmas than I ever expected. It was the best Christmas I’ve had in a very, very long time.

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