The First Christmas

  Well, the first one I remember anyway.  In one of the first old houses we lived in.  Being brought into the back room, which had been closed off and unheated, and seeing a tree in the house.  Being given a small wrapped package, being cold, not understanding what was going on.  I can almost---almost---remember what my  toy was in the wrapping, but not quite.  Dorothy's  toy was a little red rubber horse.  She had it for a long time, but in time its ears were broken off.  She may have chewed on them, since she was only a toddler.
     I suppose that may have been Dorothy's very first Christmas present.  A year or so later, her Christmas present was  a stick hobby horse. She used to ride it around the house and then hang its bridle strap over the doorknob.  Maybe that's where she learned to love horses; Ma must have endowed her with that. 
    I can't remember her gifts for her last Christmas.  We never know which that will be until too late.  In our later years, we used to forego giving each other gifts and instead go shopping right after Christmas, and pick out what we wanted for each other. That way we could shop and do lunch.  Simple activities which I'd give the world  to be able to do now.  We were all set to do that, almost ready to go out the door the day after New Year's in 2008, when the telephone rang with the news that would signal the beginning of the end.  She left to schedule appointments. 
    She would see that year's Christmas, and then two more, but things were never again the same.