Home For Christmas

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

The combined smell of sweat and perfume permeated the station's waiting area, as holiday travelers dealt with the anxieties of catching and switching trains on their way to various destinations where they hoped to share turkey and pumpkin pie with loved ones for the holidays. The air was rich with the collective stress of travel. Mothers struggled with their children, excited about the presents they would receive on Christmas morning. At the same time, fathers wondered how they would pay for all the costs associated with bringing Christmas cheer. Still, thoughts of parents and grandparents who awaited their arrival for the holidays made it all worthwhile.

Travelers steadily flowed into the terminal, wearing remnants of the snow that has continued to fall across the city for days now, depositing it beneath them as they found seats where they would await the arrival of trains taking them to various destinations. Here they were left to contemplate whether they'd packed all the presents for the family. while the melting snow pooled on the floor, mingling with that which had fallen from fellow travelers, forming a river without destination.

The booksellers' shops were largely ignored in favor of the trashy tabloid kiosks where scandalous gossip was printed in rags selling like water in a desert. Truth was minimal in these dirty tabloids, but people clamored over the reports as freely as they bypassed the books published by authors with the best intentions. That speaks volumes to the state of man, seeing great works of literature passed over by would-be readers who opt for the latest word of second-rate actors and musicians.

Attempting to free myself from the reverie I'd fallen into while watching passengers load and unload from trains before departing once again on their continued journey, I walked to the public washrooms where I was greeted by the odor of the collection from the urinals emptying onto the floor. Pipes were seemingly an unknown luxury at this station, as urine mixed freely with the melted snow water standing throughout the station's waiting area. In a more civilized country, warnings about the wet floors would have been posted, while workers diligently cleaned the leakage from the floors. Not here.

Christmas music, so far removed from the old classic hymns and carols, blared from scratchy-sounding speakers hidden somewhere deep within the building's recesses. It was enough to make a sixty-something traveler lose any faith that might remain in his fellow man. Or maybe it was just me. My mind had been rather bogged down for some time now. This trip would either be the beginning of the end of the emotional rollercoaster ride I'd been on, or it would be the start of an even worse spiral.

My thoughts about parents and spending time with family were a bit different than those of most others with whom I shared the room today. The family I was blessed with was an eclectic misfitting group if ever there was one. My biological father had already left us, thanks to Alzheimer's. I can't truthfully say I shed any tears since we spent a lifetime at odds. My siblings don't warrant the details it would take to explain that story.

So why, you might ask, was I making this trip? With all the possible holiday destinations available to create some semblance of a happy Christmas, couldn't I just as easily schedule one where I might spend a few days of relaxation and pleasure? As I pondered much about life, the terminal's scratchy speakers announced the arrival of my train, which appeared to be that of several others as well. We made our way to the platform as the train rolled to a stop amidst the smells of hydraulic fluid and the heat of massive wheels after many hours of rolling over tracks.

As I climbed aboard, the conductor pointed travelers to a car with room to accommodate the new passengers. Christmas had come to the railways, with decorations and colored lights lining the windows. I found an empty seat where I hoped to spend time with my latest book and a glass of Crown & Seven. I placed a briefcase beside me to discourage anyone from joining me and sat back to brace myself for what lie ahead.

By the time the conductor had finally announced the approach of the stop at my hometown, I was numb to what might await me. Stepping from the train, I saw a platform filled with the families of other travelers awaiting their arrival. None were for me. Making my way through the masses excited about their reunions on my way into the station, I pushed toward the rental counter to sign for the car I'd reserved.

Traffic was heavy with holiday travelers as I entered the Interstate corridor that would take me to the hotel that serve as "home" for the next few days. Since I had been able to make all other necessary arrangements by phone on the previous afternoon, this evening would be free to unwind by relaxing in my room with a light dinner delivered by the kitchen staff.

After a night of fitful sleep, I woke to a city covered in deep, freshly fallen Christmas snow. Kids could be seen making snowmen and riding sleds, obviously thrilled with the snow. My opinion was that it was more of an uncontrollable inconvenience that would need to be tolerated. There was time for a leisurely breakfast while reading the morning paper that reported crimes not stopping for Christmas.

As I looked at the page with words that failed to register, my mind drifted off to so many Christmases past; happier times before life became so difficult. I was reminded of the bond with my mother that had spanned the decades; memories from every stage of my life. There was never a bridge of life’s events that ever needed to be crossed without her being a part of it.

This Christmas Day would seem a bit odd. Although it would be spent with her in a sense, the holidays would never be the same. As the waiter left the check, my thoughts returned to reality. It was time to go. This would be my last Christmas with Mom. Her funeral was scheduled to begin in less than an hour.