Holiday Prophecy

When I was a kid, just six years old, I was at my Aunt Jodie's house on Christmas Eve when a great moment of clarity and fear overtook me.

I sat on a short series of steps that led to the sunken family room and the men playing pool. Above me was the kitchen, and all the women in my family -- the cousins, aunts, mother, and sister -- all were laughing while preparing a great feast.

My grandfather, back then an older middle aged man, sent the cue ball down the felt and delivered a lively blast.

Someday, Papa, you will die.

Upstairs, I hear my grandmother giving her opinion on the ham's doneness.

You will die, too, Grandma.

Cousins.

You will marry and move away.

Then, you will die.

At twenty-nine, Easter is a lonely holiday.

Who will be left to celebrate?

Papa drew back behind the nine and I hear baby McKenzie crying from the corner of the wood paneled room.

Thank God. Families grow.