Three Christmases ago

Three Christmases ago, when things were a lot better and we could go for midnight mass before Christmas Day, I sat by mom's side and we talked about a lot of things. It was one hour before the performance by the church choir (a pretty lively one at that).

Whilst we were talking, the drummer in the worship team started practising.

"Impressed" would have been an understatement. I was enthralled. I whispered in mom's ear, and we both looked at the drummer playing. At that point in time, I closed my eyes. I didn't want mom to see the tears that welled up in my eyes. But they fell anyway. It was then that I expressed how much I truly wanted to play the drums. How much I wanted to do it in church, on Christmas Day, for Christ the Lord. It's his birthday, after all.

Mom's last gift to me was a drum kit - the one I'm using now - which I received back on my 17th birthday.

Three years have passed, and that deep wish I had for Christmas still remains nothing but a wish. Mom's gone forever, and I'm not sure if she'll be watching me from wherever she is. My hands and feet are slow. I wanted to show her how well I'd play. I can't help crying whenever I think about this, and I yearn for there to be even the slightest glimmer of hope. I can't bring myself to tell anyone because... gah, who'll listen. No one would.

No, one day, I will.

If today, I imagine myself looking resplendent in a flowing blue dress, behind the drum kit, beating my heart out, one day, I will do it.

For You.

Let's just hope that she'll be watching too.


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