Member-only story
Twas’ the Night Before Christmas Eve
A Daughter’s Nightmare
With arms and legs flailing, I shouted, “Don’t make me go into that black car.”
I hit, screamed, and kicked, but he forced me into the car anyway while staring down at my panic-stricken face. My tiny brown eyes darted, searching for a way out.
It was the day after Christmas, December 26, 1958. I was nine years old. The car was a black limo, first in line in the funeral procession for my father. The man was the undertaker, and I was terrified.
Was it just three days ago that I was in another black car, my dad’s jeep, riding on the front fender? Or was it a lifetime ago when I climbed up in the front seat next to him, thrilled to be on Christmas Vacation? I was even more thrilled to be going to work with him at the Landscape Nursery.
I can almost hear him whistling holiday tunes and shouting “Merry Christmas” while tying Christmas trees on the rooftops of his customer’s cars. I was a happy little girl feeling the anticipation of Christmas presents to come. My dad gave me spending money to buy a little plastic nativity set and two green sparkly gnome ornaments, my treasures to this day.
What should have been the ending of a perfect father/daughter day became a day that quickly unraveled like the ribbons on a Christmas present. Shortly after arriving home, I heard his hoarse voice trying to shout, “Quick, call your mom, hurry”.
He was sitting in a chair, sweating, pale, short of breath, grimacing while bending over in pain. I knew something was terribly wrong with him.
What I remember next was total chaos. Mom ran to him, my sister and I crying, Mom yelling, “Girls, shush, put on your coats and boots and get in the car…NOW!”
I can visualize the macaroni and beef dinner cooking on the stove, the TV blaring, the multi-colored Christmas tree lights blinking, but most of all, I remember the feeling of panic.
What I can’t recall clearly was the car ride to my grandmother’s house. My mom must have driven. Daddy must have been in a lot of pain in the passenger seat. I can assume that my sister and I were silently huddled together in the back seat.
