A Christmas Wrench
A short-short story

Like most women, Lily lost her husband while she, although 85, still had some life left. She didn’t feel the need to grieve for long. Indeed, she elongated the mourning period to avoid friends and family thinking she was a cold person.
But after a socially acceptable two months, Lily set out. She tried mah jongg but concluded it was worth the two hours a week but no more. She tried volunteering, tutoring illiterate adults but felt the efforts were too little, too late. So after a couple of students no-showed, she moved on. Next, she tried taking guitar lessons — Like the tutoring, she felt it was too much repetitive effort for too little progress. Then she took a course, but although she hated to admit it, she had trouble understanding, let alone remembering.
Of course, that saddened her. And during her daily walk in the park — That, she could and wanted to do — she sat at a bench and cried at her decline. She struggled to gin up a basis for hope. She tried reminiscing but that felt worse, that the good was all behind her. She looked around the woods, irrationally searching for hope in the trees: Massive old trees like her, fallen leaves decomposing like her.
Then she saw a tiny sapling at the base of a pine tree. She had never grown anything since the seeds she planted in the 2nd grade that never germinated. But she dug her fingers under the sapling and carried it home. She put it in a styrofoam cup and watered it.
Lily put the little plant where she could see if it would grow: on her patio next to her rocking chair. It did, quickly. Even though she had planted it in March when it was still chilly, by December, she had transplanted it twice. It was now big enough to be her Christmas tree.
But hanging the ornaments reminded her of all her past good: her husband, her family, her childhood when she couldn’t wait to jump out of bed Christmas morning. So she put the ornaments back in the box and rocked.
I wish I could tell you that a Bob-Cratchit-type family walked by and she gave them her tree — serendipity is inspiring — but that’s not what happened. Lily put the tree into her shopping cart, then walked door-to-door down her middle-class block to see if anyone wanted the tree. Most didn’t answer the door or politely declined while probably thinking that Lily was a little weird. Finally, one person, to be polite, said, “We already have a tree in the living room but if you like, stick it on the porch.” And to send her on her way, he summarily waved, “Thank you. Bye.”
Lily plodded back home and rocked, sadder than ever. Every day, she walked by that porch to see if, by any chance, he had decorated it. Every day, no.
On Christmas Eve morning, she felt like being maudlin. So she looked through her ornaments and came upon one that her father had given her: a tiny wrench. You see, her dad was a mechanic and wanted to give her a sign that she could be anything she wanted.
Lily attached the wrench to the tree and padded home.
That evening, Lily had a Christmas Eve eggnog, okay, two, and fell asleep. So she didn’t get to see that, that night, the man had friends over and a little boy was on the porch playing with the wrench.
Marty Nemko is a career and personal coach. His 12 books, including The Best of Marty Nemko (3rd edition) are available.
I read this aloud on YouTube.
