Little Things

Chapter 31

24th December 2022

It took Leah and I forever to say goodbye to one another today. We're insufferable- we struggle spending 1 night apart.

The car's headlights cut through the early evening darkness, a solitary beacon on the winding road leading home. I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as I navigated the familiar yet somehow always new journey back to my childhood home for Christmas. The dashboard clock ticked closer to the heart of the evening, to that magical time when Christmas Eve whispered of old traditions and warm memories.

As an only child, I had always shared an intensely close bond with my parents, they were lucky to have me - mum struggled when it came to getting pregnant naturally and after many rounds of IVF - here I am.

Christmas, in particular, held a special kind of magic, a time when the outside world seemed to pause, and the cosiness of home felt like a warm embrace. Despite the excitement bubbling inside me at the thought of seeing my parents, a part of my mind wandered, thoughts drifting to Leah. This year had brought changes, beautiful and significant, and spending this festive period without Leah by my side felt bittersweet.

The road stretched on, and I allowed the rhythm of the drive to lull me into a reflective silence. Each mile closer to home brought back a flood of memories—of late-night Christmas Eve services at the local church, the gleeful anticipation of Santa's visit, and the painstaking efforts to stay awake to catch a glimpse of the jolly old man in red. I smiled at the recollection of my youthful endeavours, the innocence of belief, and the pure joy that the season had always brought me.

As I turned onto the street where I grew up, the sight of my parents' house, adorned with twinkling lights and festive decorations, filled me with a sense of nostalgia and warmth. The driveway welcomed me like an old friend, and as I parked the car, the front door opened, spilling light onto the porch where my parents stood, waiting.

The greetings were filled with laughter and tight hugs, the kind that said, "You were missed more than words can say." My parents had aged gracefully, their faces etching the passage of time with lines of wisdom and joy. The house smelled of pine and spices, the aromas wrapping around me, a comforting reminder of the countless Christmases spent in this very home.

Dinner was a festive affair, the table laden with traditional dishes and my mother's special recipes. Conversation flowed easily, filled with updates, reminiscences, and the occasional teasing that only parents can provide. Yet, through it all, I felt a pang of longing for Leah's presence, wishing I could share this piece of my world, these roots that had shaped me, with the person who had come to mean so much. We ended the evening with a few too many glasses of wine and some good old fashioned Christmas board games.

Christmas Day dawned bright and cheerful, the house coming alive with the sounds of holiday music and the rustling of wrapping paper. I participated in the rituals of my childhood, finding comfort in the familiarity but also recognising the evolving nature of family and love. As I watched her parents, the realisation dawned on me that traditions are not just about preserving the past but also about embracing the present and looking forward to the future.

In quiet moments between the merriment, my thoughts turned to Leah, to our shared life waiting to be continued upon my return. The next step. I felt a deep gratitude for the love that had grown between us, a love that had expanded my sense of home and family. It was in these reflections that I understood the true essence of the holidays—not merely in the gathering of individuals bound by blood but in the celebration of love, in all its forms, that connects us.

As the day waned into evening, and the soft glow of Christmas lights filled the room, I felt a profound sense of peace. This Christmas, though spent apart from Leah, had bridged my past and future, reminding me of where I came from and where I was going.