My alarm clock had to be lying; either that, or I had lost power. Stumbling out of bed, I raced to the bedroom window. "Ice storm!" Disappointment overwhelmed me until I heard clanging at the backdoor. My family had somehow made it. I slid into my fuzzy robe and hurried towards the stairwell. "Merry Quizmeth," said four-year-old Timmy as he climbed upward. Tim, my oldest twin, eyed me in unbelief. "Grammy...you're not dressed yet? Let me get the generator going and I'll brew some coffee. Tom and the fam are coming in right behind us." I sat at the top of the stairs and cuddled each grandchild. Amelia had to show me her new glasses; and Timmy, his recent tooth loss. Baby Jonathan slept, unstirred, in my arms. We visited until the smell of breakfast lured us to the dining room. We moved to the kitchen, where a fire was blazing in the wood-burning stove. The warmth began to fend off the chill. Tim and his wife, Lyla, were running around like elves, modeling my vintage Christmas aprons with glee. Tom and Candace finally arrived with their daughter, Hope. After a quick hug and kiss, Hope wrangled Amelia and Timmy and ran to the tree to investigate. They came back with the report: stockings filled to overflowing, and scads of mysterious gifts brought by Santa Claus. "Okay, Mom... what gives? Where are the Christmas roses? Did you take them upstairs?" And... the inquisition had begun. Except for the hum of the generator, and the oak logs snapping and sizzling over the flame, it was unusually quiet. "Uh... well, it looks like my secret admirer has lost interest in me. I don't blame him--not at all. I should have been more open to the prospects of love." A tear fell, and I didn't try to sponge it away. Before I knew it, comforting arms of every size enveloped me. No more was said about Mr. Mysterious and the Christmas roses. My family turned its attention on the day and the many reasons to be merry. We enjoyed a breakfast made of assorted shaped pancakes and crispy bacon. I received a heart-shaped pancake, coated with pecan-laden maple syrup. We shared in our holiday traditions old and new, each hand-drawn card so special and deemed refrigerator worthy. As I watched everyone open their gifts, there were packages with names, but no designated giver. I thought it was something my twins had cooked up, so I played along. "I'm not sure why I have so many gifts this year," I fussed. Timmy spoke up. "Grammy, you must've been real good. Santie Cwas bot you lots and lots of pwezents!" "Well, why don't you help Grammy with this last box, Timmy." I said. "Okay! This box is big--like me!" He heaved it into my lap, smiling his toothless smile. Tears streamed down my face before my hands opened the gift. I could already smell the fragrant roses. A beautiful embossed note card was tied to the box, and was identical to the other ones. "I don't understand...." I said, searching the eyes of my sons. Tom reached for the note card and read it aloud, To my loving Sarah, The end of my life shouldn't be the end of yours. Your life embodies love, Sarah, and you have a great capacity for it. I know this for a fact, my darling, because I was the willing recipient for thirty years. I hope these roses remind you that love is eternal, and ever-blooming. Love should be shared among the living. Go and find love, Sarah. You deserve it, and have much more love to give... and to receive. This is my last letter to you in this life, hoping the other letters stirred you to move forward... stirred you to love, and like George Bailey, live again. All my love, John ***** A year later, I rang the doorbell of my longtime neighbor and friend, Frank Thompson. "I thought you might like to try my Christmas cookies, Frank. They're probably not as good as yours. I threw in some hot nuts. Do you like hot nuts?" "Are you kidding? I adore hot nuts, Sarah. I was sitting down to watch 'It's a Wonderful Life' in black and white. Would you care to join me?" "I would like that." Frank was quite the gentleman and helpful with the gifts I had in each hand. He had a fire going, and hot chocolate on the stove. Strangely, it felt like he was expecting me. The movie had already reached the halfway mark, but he insisted on restarting it from the beginning. "It has to be in black and white, doesn't it?" Frank remarked. "I can't really explain why." ***** {Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and blessings for your holiday, my fan friends} Recognized Author Notes https://pixabay.com/illustrations/christmas-santa-claus-3845837/@pixabay.com

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