Glenda Diana--More Than A Memory

Except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, the reproduction of this work in whole or in part in any form by electronic or mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including printing, faxing, E-mail, or copying electronically, is forbidden without the permission of the author, Glenda Diana.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues in this work are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Silent Night crackled from the speakers of the record player. The aroma of cinnamon and apples filled the air. Garland of red, gold and green decorated the doorways and banister. Jesse Hoyt looked around the room and felt the warmth of it fill him. It was almost as if he could touch the love of this Holiday just from the charged atmosphere that surrounded him.

Jesse smiled at his mother. She was, even on her worst days, a ray of sunshine. He could remember the few times that she actually had to discipline him. It had upset her so that she cried worse than he did. After those couple of times he swore he'd be the best son a mother could have--not because of the spanking she'd given him--but for the simple reason he couldn't take watching his mother go through the ordeal afterwards.

"You have something on your mind," she said, handing him the stack of plates. "Tell me and maybe together we can work it out."

She always told him that, and in most cases she was right. With the help of her and his father they usually were able to work through any problems.

"It'll wait," Jesse replied, as he made his way around the big oak table. It wasn't so much that he had a problem--it was his feelings of inadequacy that weighted heavily upon him.

What could he tell his mother? That he was sorry if he was a disappointment to them? No, his parents would just try to soothe him with words that he didn't believe. They loved him, this he knew without a doubt, but that didn't mask how he imagined they felt when it came to certain things.

While other parents could brag about their son's achievements in sports, the Hoyt family couldn't ...not when it came to their oldest son. Even if things had been different, Jesse still wouldn't have cared for sports and would have been horrible at them. It wasn't so much his mother that he feared he'd disappointed ... it was his father. In his younger days, Ralph Hoyt was the star quarterback for Bridgetown High School. Many of his father's friends would teasingly ask if he was going to follow in his father's footsteps, but Jesse avoided answering in fear of embarrassing his father.

Another feeling of warmth flooded over him. There was something about his mother's laugh that could make those around her feel it and in return laugh with her.

Her laughter filled the room again as she followed behind him and laid the silverware out. "You're right--I can't afford to be naughty on Christmas Eve."

His mother set the silverware down and walked over to greet his father. She pointed up at the mistletoe that hung in the center of the doorway. Jesse smiled as he watched his parents share a brief kiss. He was fortunate and he knew it and was thankful. His parents loved each other and they loved him.

He continued placing the plates on the table and then he picked up the silverware and finished placing it. Again he glanced over at his parents. His mother stood just over 5 feet tall, while his father was all over 6 feet. She had hair of brown with a few silver strands that glistened within the dark mass pulled up into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. The dress she wore was just a plain housedress that she wore often. She wasn't a thin woman, but neither was she heavy. She was--mom, with all her special traits.

His father was more the strong silent type--sturdy and dependable with every drop of blood in him. He too had some silver mixed in with his sandy brown hair. He was the kind of man that said few words, but with one look he got his meaning across.

"Why you know what night this is, son … it's the night we climb up on the roof and sweep off all the snow so that Santa and his reindeers don't take a tumble from our roof. Don't want it said that Santa couldn't finish his deliveries because of us Hoyt's, now do we?"

Jesse smiled. It was the same thing his father told him every year … and not once had he ever grown tired of hearing it. "I'm ready whenever you are."

"Good. Your brothers can watch," his father stated in a serious voice and then gave a laugh. "Go tell Taylor and Erik that they better be washed and dressed for supper before your grandparents get here."

Jesse nodded as he started for the door. Each Christmas Eve the family gathered to celebrate. Both sets of grandparents came bringing presents that they placed beneath the tree. After dinner they would gather in the living room where his father played Santa and handed out the presents--all but one to be opened on Christmas morning.

It was their favorite time of year … a time when they all came together and shared, loved and laughed. Jesse and his brothers were allowed to make one dish that would be passed around the table and they all tried very hard to make it right so that no one got sick. It was like a challenge to see which of them could make the best-liked dish.

Jesse entered his little brothers' room to find them washed, dressed and sitting on the beds as if the slightest move would send wrinkles soaring across their freshly pressed suits. It was the only thing that none of them liked--getting dressed in the 3-pieces suits that their mother insisted that they have.

Taylor reached up, ran a finger around his collar and grimaced. Jesse hid his smile and walked forward. He knew exactly how they felt because his collar was scratching the skin of his neck, too.

Erik turned eight just over a month ago and Taylor was going on ten. Both had hair the same sandy brown as his own. If not for the age difference, they could have passed as triplets with their hair coloring, hazel eyes, and the nose that their father swore came from his side of the family.

Erik heard his father make that comment a few years back and for weeks they found him staring into the mirror. None of them could figure out what was wrong with him until one night at dinner Erik announced that he didn't want someone else's nose--he wanted his own. It was something that they still liked to tease him about.

Jesse didn't have to ask who--he knew. For Taylor and Erik the best part of this whole ordeal was the presents. Oh, they loved their grandparents, but no one brought better gifts than grandmas and grandpas.

Taylor and Erik nodded at the same time and slid off the bed. They looked as though they were marching off to war, Jesse thought, watching them with a smile. It wasn't that he was that much older than his two brothers were but being fourteen separated them slightly. He envied the close bond that was natural between his younger brothers and often wished that he had had a brother or sister that was close to him in age.

Taylor glanced at Erik and shook his head. "You said that you didn't want the train set. You changed it to that chemistry set after you saw Nigal Peck's. Santa isn't going to bring you anything, because you keep changing your mind."

"Santa will too … won't he, Jesse?" Erik came to a complete stop waiting for his brother's affirmative nod. When he received it, he nodded his head at Taylor, as if to say, See.

"I want the train set. If Santa wants to bring the chemistry set and a football then that's up to him. I'm leaving extra cookies just in case he does. If you keep being mean I'll leave him a note to leave you that piece of coal that dad told us about."

"You two better stop arguing before Mom and Dad hear you and then you'll spend the rest of the night up in your room. No dinner at the table and no presents to open," Jesse said, as he passed them and headed back downstairs.

Erik's eyes widened at the thought of having to stay in his room eating supper on a tray and not being able to open his presents. He decided that he didn't want to dwell on thoughts like that, so instead he asked the first question that came to mind. "What did you ask Santa for, Jesse?"

"Yeah, you'll confuse him," Taylor muttered. "If you confuse him, he might leave me some stupid train set instead of the hockey stick I wanted."

Jesse quickly made his way down the stairs growing tired of listening to his brothers argue. It wasn't a sin that he didn't ask for anything--it was just there wasn't anything that he truly desired. He had everything he needed and as for wants, there really weren't any that he could think of.

Material things were nice and he enjoyed getting gifts, it was just that he didn't know what to ask for, so he asked for nothing. He had a loving family, a warm home and he was never hungry. What more could he want? He knew that he was different from other kids his age, but he couldn't help the way God had made him, so why dwell on it?

She had, but he shook his head no and was enveloped in her embrace. This was what mattered. Being loved. The smell of cinnamon and apple clung to her the same as it did the air. Home. Love. Family. This is what the holidays meant to him. He liked the presents that he received, but not nearly as much as being with his family.

It was the only time of year that they all came to a pause to enjoy the best things in life … togetherness … no phone calls, no business, no friends to stop by wanting you to come outside. It was just family time.

By the other kids' standards he was considered strange because he found no thrill in sports and instead, did find that thrill in studying and research the why's of that around him. Or because he enjoyed sitting in the house rather than being outside with them. He was a loner when it came to those outside his family, but it was something that he didn't know how to fix, so he stayed the way he was.

He returned his mother's embrace and smiled when she ruffled his hair in the same manor that he'd done Erik's. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" he asked.

Lighting the candles. It was a family tradition on his mother's side of the family. They lit a candle in memory of those that had passed away. It was also a tradition that his father's side of the family adopted for their own missing family members.

Jesse entered the living room to find his father struggling with a chair. He laughed at the comical scene and was warmed when his father's laughter joined his.

Jesse laughed again as he began unfolding the wooden chairs. Each year his father said that he was going to buy some real chairs so that he wouldn't have to deal with the folding ones ever again, but his father never remembered his dislike for this chore until this time each year.

The truth of the matter was that it wasn't so much the chairs that his father disliked, it was giving up his own comfortable chair to the grandparents. They only had five soft cushioned chairs for the dinning room table, so at Christmas he, his dad, and his two younger brothers surrendered their chairs for the sake of grandparents.

The doorbell rang and Jesse and his father paused and looked up at each other. Taylor's and Erik's shouts and the sound of their running feet echoed around them. Then their laughter filled the silence and was soon followed by the voices of his grandparents.

His father again struggled with the chair, muttering something under his breath. A smile spread across his face when the chair cooperated with him at last.

Jesse smiled when his father put his arm around his shoulder and led him forward. As fathers went, he figured he had the best there was. And that's where his feelings of inadequacy stemmed from, and why the knowledge that he'd never be the one to follow in his father's footsteps weighed heavy on him.

Soon he was embraced with hug after hug as his grandparents greeted him. He was thankful that he was no longer a small boy like his brothers because they no longer attempted to pick him. Instead, they told him how big he was getting and that before long he'd stand as tall as his father.

"Come on, dinner is ready." Mother called out from the dinning room doorway. "Just wait until you see what the boys have made."

Taylor and Erik both tired to explain their dishes at the same time while Jesse followed behind them listening to their conversations stumble over one another's.

Jesse glanced over at his grandma Shoemaker. "I made some honey-butter dinner rolls. Mom stood over my shoulder to make sure that I didn't mess them up."

Grandma Hoyt patted the boy's shoulder and addressed Taylor and Erik. "Hush up now, Jesse told us what you made seeing as how we couldn't hear a word that the two of you were saying. I know your mother and father taught you not to talk at the same time, but obviously it didn't do them any good."

Erik looked up into her face, his eyes wide with innocence. "But Grandma Hoyt, we're just excited. Mom and Dad did taught us better, but on a night like this a kid's bound to forget." He shrugged and smiled.

Erik gave a look that told one and all that he didn't like the thought of giving up on anything especially this. Finally he gave a reluctant nod of his head.

"Dinner sounds--and smells like it's going to be pleasing. My mouth has been watering since we got here." Grandpa Shoemaker laughed.

Within half an hour they were sitting around the large table. Plate after plate was being passed around as the talk mingled with the sounds of the Christmas music coming from the record player in the living room.

Words floated by like the snowflakes that fell outside the dinning room window. Jesse stared out the window watching the snowflakes glisten against the light that shone down from the outside light. He tried to take in everything around him … the smell of the food … the conversation … the music and the laughter.

Jesse tore his gaze away from the window and smiled at his mother. She was always worried whether he had enough to eat. As he lifted the fork he returned his gaze to the window. It was cold outside, the frost on the window and the way the snowflakes danced upon the wind told him so. He shivered in response.

"Gift time." Erik jumped up from his chair and then slowly sank back down when he received a knowing look from his father.

"You know that we clean the table first." His father stated sternly, then the expression on his face moved into a smile. "You can pick up all the silverware and Taylor can pick up all the plates, while Jesse takes the glasses into the kitchen. Your mother and I will carry in the bowls and platters."

Jesse hid his smile. Everyone knew what Erik was about to ask. It had been explained to him several times that guest didn't help clean off the table and do the dishes, but when it came down to doing a chore, Erik was always ready to get assistance.

Soon the table was cleared and washed and the runner placed back in the center with the holiday wreath and a white candle burning bright in its center. As they entered the living room Jesse helped his mother light the three candles on top of the coffee table. The candies represented Uncle Brad, Aunt Renee, cousin Timothy.

Jesse, Taylor and Erik laughed when their father put on a Santa hat and sat down next to the tree. He scrambled through the presents first handing one to Erik and then Taylor. Erik's eyes were aglow with wonder as he ripped the paper from the small package. His squeal of delight made everyone smile as he held up a shiny new train engine. Taylor hurried and ripped the paper from the present he held. He turned it over in his hands and then he held it up for all to see his new baseball glove.

Taylor followed to where his father was pointing. There in the doorway stood their mother with a hockey stick in her hands. He jumped up and ran over to her. Almost reverently he took the hockey stick and slowly ran one hand down the smooth surface.

Jesse stared at the present as his father placed it before him. What could be in it, he wondered for several seconds? He hadn't really wanted anything in particular, but the longer he stared at the box the more excitement bubbled through him.

"Are you going to stare at it or are you going to open it?" Erik said, coming to his knees to see the present better.

Jesse carefully removed the paper. Not only did he not want to rip it, but also the longer he took the more his brothers fussed over him being slow. He could tell that they wanted to reach around him and rip the paper away … but they didn't.

Beneath the wrapping was a three-shelf oak bookcase. Jesse stared at it--his thoughts going every which way. They did understand that he'd rather read than play. They did understand how important his books were to him. He could feel his heart swell within the confines of his chest as his eyes watered.

"It's only a wooden box to you," their mother said. "But to Jesse it's much more. Both of your Grandfathers took their time to design and build this case for him. So, you see it's much, much more than a box."

Jesse murmured a grateful thank you to both of his Grandpas as he scooted his treasure over to the far side of the room. Sitting down in front of it he let his hands move over the smooth wood. He knew his Grandpa Shoemaker made the intricate details that were carved into the sides and that Grandpa Hoyt made the small miniature carved nails that held it together.

He never saw his little brothers as they ripped through one package after another. He was too enchanted with the bookcase and with the knowledge that his family understood him better than he thought they had. Never had he owned anything quite so exquisite as this gift.

He knew without a doubt that he had other presents under the tree, for his grandmothers wouldn't be bested by the grandfathers. Keeping the bookshelf close to his side he opened two gifts from his Grandma Hoyt and found two beautifully knitted sweaters. And from his Grandma Shoemaker he received a lovely plaid quilt for his bed.

From his parents he received several pairs of pants, shirts and warm socks. He was at the age that it was difficult for them to know what to buy for him, his mother had told him. He assured her that he liked every gift that he'd received and then he gave her a large hug to emphasize his words.

First he carried his other gifts up to his room saving the bookcase for last--he wanted to find a very special place for it. By the time he came back downstairs his mother had cleaned up the array of torn gift-wrapping from the floor. The only remains were his folded pieces, which lay beside his bookcase. Kneeling down in front of the shelves he again let his hands glide over the smooth texture feeling the warmth of the wood beneath his hands.

Jesse looked up. His father was standing above him with a gift held out toward him. Taking the present from him he looked down at the tag attached to it. From Dad, was the only thing written on the tag. Slowly he removed the wrapping not wanting to tear the paper. The room had grown silent as everyone watched him.

Jesse's eyes misted as he discovered a set of leather bound books. The gold lettering on each read Jesse's Journal. Tears welled up in his eyes. His father had given him the greatest gift of all. A place in which he could write his thoughts, his dreams … and his hopes. His heart ached with the knowledge that his father had understood him all along and that he wasn't and had never been disappointed in him.

"Each of us has different interests just as each of us are different. But we all have one thing in common. Do you know what that one thing is, Jesse?"

His father smiled. "Yes. Love. As long as we have love we're the richest of all people. As long as we have love nothing else matters. I don't care if you're never a star quarterback or that you never run the 5K or that you never hit a grand slam into the stands. What matters most to me is that you are who you are--and that's just the way I want you--that's just the way I love you best."

Jesse came to his feet unsteadily, but his father's strong arms were there to enfold him and giving him the hug that he so needed.

"It was the first time I realized that I didn't have to be anything other than what I was and I was loved for that and that alone."

The room below them was the same as the one in his dreams. His parents and brothers were gathering in the living room. His grandparents, minus Grandpa Shoemaker, were seated in the same seats that they took every year. Taylor was almost 16 and Erik had just turned 14, they had grown so much since the last time he'd seen them.

His mother lit the three candles on the coffee table and then she walked over to where his bookcase stood near the Christmas tree and lit the two candles upon it. For a moment she stood there with her head bowed. His father went to her and put his arm around her. She looked up and though there were tears running down her soft cheeks she smiled.

"I always wanted to be like other kids. To live a full and active life as they did. Not to worry about doctors and medicine--to be normal like Taylor and Erik. But I wasn't and there was nothing I could do about it. Instead I was born sick and unhealthy … and as the years went by I only grew worse."

Jesse nodded. "I just wish that I could have had more time." He beheld the scene below as his family opened the presents they'd given to one another.

"We're nothing more than a memory now," Jesse murmured, watching as his father took one of his journals from the bookcase and began reading.

"You almost have it right, son." His grandpa put his arm around his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "With those journals that you wrote you made sure that you were more than a simple memory … you live on in those words and that's what has helped your family through their grief of losing you. You'll live on in their memories and in those that come."

Jesse held his silence as he listened to the soft melody of Silent Night playing from the living room below him. The scent of cinnamon and apple was as tangible as if he could taste it upon his tongue. And he felt joyful as he listened to the deep rumbling voice of his father carefully reading words that he'd written in the final two years that he'd been graced with after receiving the leather books.