Frost
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Join Date: Oct 2013
Location: Wistful
Posts: 2
Frost
The frost arrives in a gallon of eggnog. It rides in a bottle of champagne. It clings to a case of seasonal ale. At first, it dissipated quickly, leaving no trace. As I grew older, I noticed it, just for a moment or so, at dinner: in the glances of my grandparents, my aunts. As I grew older, it began to permeate the holidays; it spread from glances at dinner to whispers at breakfast. At Christmas it spread from Christmas Eve through New Year’s.
My nieces and nephews, still young, did not feel it. My mother worked to keep it at bay: promises were made, meetings were attended, glasses were rationed to no avail. Though now everyone could feel it, my father most of all, still they brought more each Christmas: spiced rum punch, Balvenie, Winter Wheat Belgian Ale.
Christmas dinner became a strained affair, my family arriving early and leaving as the frost rolled in, paralyzing the holiday. On Christmas morning, it left my father in his bed; it held my mother tightly; it froze tight smiles on my grandparents.
Several years ago, it claimed my father’s oldest brother, and laid him in the cold ground.
It laid claim to my grandmother, she would never be warm again; she grew gaunt, and held herself tightly; occasionally her grandchildren could make her forget her chill, a quick smile might light her face for a moment.
This winter it took my father.
My nieces and nephews, still young, did not feel it. My mother worked to keep it at bay: promises were made, meetings were attended, glasses were rationed to no avail. Though now everyone could feel it, my father most of all, still they brought more each Christmas: spiced rum punch, Balvenie, Winter Wheat Belgian Ale.
Christmas dinner became a strained affair, my family arriving early and leaving as the frost rolled in, paralyzing the holiday. On Christmas morning, it left my father in his bed; it held my mother tightly; it froze tight smiles on my grandparents.
Several years ago, it claimed my father’s oldest brother, and laid him in the cold ground.
It laid claim to my grandmother, she would never be warm again; she grew gaunt, and held herself tightly; occasionally her grandchildren could make her forget her chill, a quick smile might light her face for a moment.
This winter it took my father.
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