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She shrugs. “You’re right; I used to be so reserved. I wish we had done more things like this when you were growing up.”
“What changed?” I ask.
“We got that letter. Results of your father’s test. It’s easy to let go of all the nonsense when your time together is given an expiration date,” she explains.
“Yeah, I bet.”
She takes my hand and squeezes. “Promise me that you won’t ever have to get a letter from a doctor to remember what’s important.”
“I promise.”
Santa, who looks suspiciously like Mayor Gentry, waves us over, and Mom whispers her Christmas wishes in his ear too quietly for me to hear.
Then, it’s my turn.
“I already have everything I could ever want, Santa, so I guess if I were to ask for anything, it would be a healthy baby,” I say.
The photographer draws our attention, and Santa wraps his arm around the two of us.
They snap a Polaroid picture and hand it to me.
“Oh, can we get one more with our husbands?” I ask.
We wave Langford and Daddy over, and they stand side by side over Santa’s shoulders.
“Everyone say,Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas,” Santa prompts.
We do as instructed, and the photog snaps another photo. I shake them as the film develops.
I’ll treasure them forever.
As the day draws to a close, Ezra rejoins us and recounts his exciting day, learning tricks from Morris and Zoey over dinner.
I can see that the event-filled day is taking its toll on Daddy as he struggles with his plate.
I fake a yawn. “Oh, wow. I’m super tired. I hate to be a party pooper, but this baby sure wears me out. Do you guys mind if we head home instead of going on the horse carriage ride tonight?”
“Sure. We can always do the ride tomorrow night,” Langford assures.
He pays the check, and I hold on to my father’s hand as we head to the truck.
“I love you, Daddy,” I whisper.
He looks at me, a hint of recognition in his eyes, and manages a weak but loving smile as he squeezes my hand.
It was a great day. One I’ll never forget. A day when my husband’s thoughtful surprise brought my family closer together and gave us a Christmas to remember, even in the face of Alzheimer’s disease.
Morris
Iwake up alone. Zoey’s side of the bed is still warm.
The smell of coffee wafts through the air.
And I sit up, blinking against the early morning sunlight that is beaming through the window against the far wall.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and check the time.
We’re supposed to shoot an advertising campaign for Misty Mountain Ranch and Ski Area today.
