Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, December 25, 1994 TAG: 9412290011
SECTION: EDITORIALS PAGE: G3 EDITION: HOLIDAY
SOURCE: SANDRA TUCKER-MAXWELL
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
Grandmother rocked in her favorite chair, positioned just so in front of the gas-log fireplace, her toes turned up, toasting pinkly. In her lap was the well-worn letter from her youngest son, Freddie. He was stationed in Korea.
It was Christmas 1954, and he would be coming home soon - perhaps next year. But the letter Grandmother read over and over was about the rest and recuperation he would soon go on: "I fly out of Korea on Christmas Eve (your time) and will call you on Christmas Day (your time). Be good now, Ma - or Santa might bring you a switch!"
She had not seen or spoken to him since he'd left the spring before. His wife, Louise, lived in our town, so she and Grandmother shared letters - all except the "good parts" in Aunt Louise's! Grandmother knew, however, that when he said he'd call, he'd call. He was very organized and always on time with everything he did.
Christmas morning dawned cold and snowy. The sound of tearing, crinkling wrapping paper was almost as loud as the music that poured out of the radio. Nancy hurried and dressed so she could go out and ride her new red bike. I sampled the new makeup kit, Mother ooh'd and ah'd over the new dishes, Daddy wriggled his toes in his bedroom slippers, and Grandmother, rocking, rocking, stroked the velvet of her new stole.
Soon, Mother gave us instructions to clean up the living room and put our gifts on display under the tree. She went to the kitchen to begin breakfast. The radio was turned down a little, but we could hear the news begin.
"There is tragedy to report this Christmas morning," said the newscaster. "A plane carrying Army personnel from Korea to Tokyo for a holiday R & R has crashed into Mount Fuji during a snowstorm. Rescue teams reached the site early this morning and report no signs of survivors. They also report that the scene is heart-rending with gaily wrapped gifts, toys and clothing strewn over the crash site ... "
Nancy, who had just come back in from the cold, stopped, dropping clots of snow on the rug. I turned to look at Grandmother - her chair was no longer rocking and her knuckles, clutching the oriental stole, were white.
Dinner was a silent meal, except for the grace Daddy spoke. Mother's wonderfully prepared turkey and dressing, cranberry relish and sweet-potato casserole might have been so much sawdust. We watched Grandmother. She sat with her back rigid, automatically moving fork to mouth, fork to plate.
After dinner, Nancy and I drew cleanup duty. The house was silent. Aunt Louise had stayed with her family for dinner, other aunts and uncles were expected later that evening. The phone remained silent.
It seemed the spirit of a joyful holiday had flown out the door, and would not return soon. For once, Nancy and I washed and dried dishes without squabbling.
Dusk had fallen. Shadows played over the crusty snow, adding to the glumness. I had never known silence was so loud.
We were in the middle of a tasteless custard pie and coffee when the phone rang. We all jumped and then played statues, no one wanting to take that phone call.
Finally, my daddy picked up the receiver.
"Yes, yes. I understand. Yes - I can hear you." He looked at Grandmother, an awkward side-glance. "Yes, she's here." Another quick glance. Grandmother still sat like a statue. Only her clutching of the arms on her chair betrayed her inner feelings.
"All right, operator. Yes, I'll put her on."
He handed the phone to Grandmother. She held it gingerly against her ear. Her eyes widened and filled with tears. She held the telephone out so all in the room could hear:
"Ma! Ma! I'm OK. I missed the plane!"
Sandra Tucker-Maxwell of Roanoke is a substitute teacher in the Roanoke County and Salem schools.
by CNB