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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: REMEMBER (10/19/17)
I heard my daughter’s tears fall before her voice announced them and my heart stopped. I dropped the hot tray of Christmas cookies on the stove top and hurried to the family room.



“Janice! Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”



Then I saw: The box of decorations she’d opened was full of Christmas stockings and other decorations for the mantle, each one something my mother had touched.



My mother who had passed away only a few months ago when Janice, at thirteen years of age, was the only other one home.



“Grandma was knitting while I made cookies. I left the stove on.”



I pulled my daughter close, kissed her hair, and let my tears mingle with hers for a long while. Our regrets always surged on the waves of our grief. We had long ago forgiven each other of the sins we still found difficult to forgive ourselves for. The song on the radio came alongside of us and tugged us back toward the source of our hope. It became my plea for our own rescue.

O come, O come Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel…



Grief is healthy, but despair is not. I knew we couldn’t find the light by staying in the dark. Soon the Lord answered my prayer by distracting Janice with the contents of the box.



“Why was Grandma always so obsessed with socks? Every Christmas, every birthday- she’d buy us socks.”



“Or make them,” I agreed, and pulled up a memory.



“She called them Prayer Socks. It all started when I was a little bit older than you. Some missionary friends were staying with us before they went to China and accidentally left a pair of socks here when they were packing. Instead of forwarding them to her friends, she sent them pictures of herself wearing them in different places, and notes saying how they reminded her to pray for them. Soon she was asking for socks and making socks and giving socks…”



Janice pulled up a memory of her own. “I was sure surprised when I found she kept that first pair I made her. I did a terrible job.”



“But she admired the fact that you persisted until you figured it out, and you chose the colors and the pattern especially for her.”



More words percolated to the surface. “Do you think she’s knitting socks in heaven?”



My daughter reached in to pull out a stocking, “Hopefully she’s thought better of pom-poms.”



I smiled. My hand dipped into the box, pulling out a 3-D example of my mother’s work that had graced our mantle since Janice was five. “Maybe she’s making snowmen.”



“Out of socks,” Janice stated dryly, catching on to the wry twist of humor.



“But look at their little sweaters and hats and scarves,” I persisted.



“And socks.”



I planted an ‘I’m proud of you’ kiss on her hair and gave her a squeeze. “Come on. I think we need to sample those cookies to make sure they turned out before we can finish decorating.”



“I think we need hot chocolate with cinnamon to go with those cookies.”



“I think you’re right.”



“Hey Mom.”



“Yes?”



“Did you get me socks for Christmas?”





Now that would be telling.







Author's Note: This is fiction.
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Member Comments
Member
Date
Jenny Fulton 
10/27/17
This was a very sweet, enjoyable poem. I liked the distinction you made between grief and despair.
Bonnie Bowden 
10/29/17
Tender story of remembering Grandma in a new way. I thought the humor of the pom poms was a good way to break up the intensity of the piece.
Larry Whittington
10/30/17
You have us guessing in at least a place or two. Had there been a fire or heart attack?

Maybe that is the intention.

Well written. Keep up the good work.
Larry Whittington
10/30/17
You have us guessing in at least a place or two. Had there been a fire or heart attack?

Maybe that is the intention.

Well written. Keep up the good work.
Bonnie Bowden 
11/02/17
Congratulations on your 1st place finish in the Beginners category and moving up to the Intermediate category, Christine.