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Saturday, April 23, 2011

Merry Christmas, Mom

From The Pocket Muse

Imagine a coat.
Imagine the pocket of a coat.
Imagine what's in the pocket...


   Jane slowly opened the door of the closet. Thoughts of her little Matthew flooded her mind as her eyes found themselves on her black wool jacket.  She could see his toe-blond hair, his crystal clear blue eyes, and hear his infectious laughter.  Oh, how she longed to have her little boy back.  It was hard to believe a year had passed.
   She hadn't worn the jacket since the accident. She considered throwing it away, but with Chris being laid off, money was tight, and she knew another coat like that would be at least one-hundred dollars.  They just didn't have money like that anymore.   Now that the Holidays were here, she thought she could muster the courage to throw it on and go to Mass.  Jane slipped the heavy coat over her frail shoulders and silently asked God to help her be strong and get through the next few days.
   Jane told her parents she would meet them at St. Malachy's for midnight Mass.  Normally, they would pick her up and she would ride with them.  Tonight, she wanted this time for herself.  She wanted to ride in silence and think of her little boy.  
  The parking lot was almost full, she found a place to park in the rear of the church.  The December air had a bite that almost took her breath away.  She tucked her head down and quickly walked to the entrance of the church.  Once inside, she shook off the cold air, took her gloves off, and zipped them into her purse.  
   With her heart aching, she plunged her hands deep into her pockets.  She felt a stabbing pain in her right middle finger. "What on earth is in my pocket?" Jane thought to herself.  She pulled her hand out of her pocket and examined the puncture wound on her finger. The blood had started to peek through the skin.  "Great. I know I don't have a band-aid in my purse," Jane thought as she stuck her finger in her mouth to lick her wound clean. 
    She carefully put her hand back in her pocket to find what had caused her this inconvenience.  The  object was the size of a pea.  She slowly pulled it out of her pocket.  Jane's eyes filled with tears.  "Oh, Matthew," she whispered, "how could I have forgotten?" 
    Jane examined the tiny tooth in her hand.  How could she have forgotten Matthew's first tooth?   He had proudly pushed the tooth out with his tongue as they were walking to the car on that icy December day. She had hurriedly put it into her pocket, and planned to slip it under his pillow that night.  That night never came for Matthew.   He was killed instantly when the man in the black pick-up truck smashed into the backseat of their car. 
   Jane gently placed the tooth in her left pocket, gingerly slid her hand around it and gave it a little squeeze, and joined her parents at the back of the church.

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