Christmas Eve wrapped the house in sparkling lights with laughter that echoes in the air. Families cuddled around the sofas as the lights strung around the room were soft enough to feel like a hug—it was dull, but never dark. Mom’s laughter fills the breezing air, thick with a hint of nostalgia.
“He’d tell the silliest jokes when I was sad—once he caught a frog for me, and when he tried to show it off to me, it jumped on his face! And it made me and my siblings laugh so hard. After school, he would give me money just to buy myself my favorite snack, and then he would cook our family’s favorite meal for dinner. I really miss my grandpa; without him—my childhood wouldn’t have been this good,” my family chattered, while I fantasized it over and over again, how that last line hits me colder than the air—“Why do I feel complete when I don’t have the same life as the others?”
As the lights went dark, everyone was sleeping soundly. I kept thinking about it as I hugged my stuffed animal—it struck me again. It was just a man with crinkly eyes that I never had in my life, but why does everyone say that man made their childhood sweeter?
The glow of my bedroom window as the moon shone made me feel more lonely. The little girl inside me was never this lonely, but why does the teenage me that already has everything in life feel incomplete? I let myself fall into the thought of, “Is it a blessing in disguise? Maybe God forgot to give me a grandfather? But God never forgets; maybe He has a reason...” As I lay back down, the softness of my pillow hugged me tighter while my blanket made me feel I wasn‘t alone that night.
Christmas break brought a sleepover with my friends, with candles flickering on the floor and our shadows dancing like ghosts on the walls. In the middle of the night, someone starts talking about their lolo: “He taught me how to cook my favorite meal, so every time I cook it, I feel his presence again. Mine would often read me stories before going to bed. Now it’s a habit of mine that I couldn’t erase.” One after another, time goes by and the air feels warmer and the laughter gets louder.
But I smile softly, my fingers playing with the other as I try to cover the awkwardness I felt once again. While they were laughing, a thought struck my soul again—like a dull knife that penetrates my soul unexpectedly.
“Why do I only have a grandma?”
Then, as if they were reading my mind, they turned to me.
“Don’t you miss your grandpa too?”
My body remained frozen; my mouth couldn’t let out the words that my mind echoed. That question echoed in the back of my mind every day, but the air was different that night; I didn’t feel its usual coldness, but instead, I felt its warmth that I never noticed before. I softly whispered, letting my thoughts finally be heard: “How do I miss something I never had?”
