The Christmas Card

A very short story about a long story

Photo by Stockholm Paris Studio on Unsplash

This is a story for anyone who’s ever felt lonely during the holidays. This can be a tough time of year, especially anyone struggling with estrangement. If you need support in that area, I highly recommend Dr. Joshua Coleman, a leading expert in estrangement, and his Substack, “Family Troubles.” I wish you all Happy Holidays.

THE CHRISTMAS CARD

I haven’t heard from them in many years, and today their Christmas card arrived out of the blue. Now. After all this time. Some silver glitter falls from the envelope like snow as I remove the tri-folded, thick, shimmery card. It accordions out into a multi-paged document like a travel brochure, rife with images. There is not one of those annoying braggy letters, just a line about joy and peace followed by their family name. I put on my glasses so I can peer more closely at the photos. The family has grown and I don’t recognize all the faces in the pictures, but I recognize her. Older, new hair style and color. I look at her on a rocky bluff above an azure cove looking tanned and relaxed. She looks well. I pull my old cardigan (the one she knit for me as a teen) around my body tightly. The next fold over shows some dollish children with her children who are no longer children. My God, when did that happen? The man is a new one I think; or the one I knew has really changed. Maybe it’s the beard? Hard to tell. I also don’t recognize the return address. Texas? Really? I want to know more and feel frustrated that this card is making my eyes burn and my throat sore. I thought I had moved on and let bygones be bygones. Accepted things beyond my control. This was the first year I didn’t include them in my “send” list after years of silence. My therapist said letting go was progress. But this makes me wonder. Does she want to rekindle the relationship we once had? A tingle of hope and goosebumps emerge. Or did she just fail to edit her mailing list? The address on the envelope is computer generated. My jaw clenches. I toss the envelope into the recycle bin and gingerly place the expanded card on the windowsill behind the kitchen sink. My gaze goes beyond this family and my reflection in the glass to see the late afternoon sun sinking behind my front fence. I exhale the heavy breath I’ve been holding. I would have read the letter if they’d enclosed one, and I would not have been annoyed. Then my phone rings and my spirits lift. Maybe it’s someone I love.