It's All Relative (33 page)

I sit on the couch and stare at the wheel spinning, my life a blur.

The years have all passed so quickly, like flipping though the pages in a photo album.

“Let's mix it up this year,” my mother suddenly whispers, shaking me from my thoughts while my father watches the wheel and screams wrong answers. My mom puts away the solid red tree topper and reaches deep into a plastic bin for a showy angel whose wings light up. “Here,” she says, holding it out to me. “You place the angel, my angel.”

When I am done, we sit on the couch and stare at the tree, just as we did when we were young and there was no cancer.

Suddenly I stand and return with a ripped piece of notebook paper and a pen.

“Write your prayer,” I tell my mother.

“What?”

“Write your prayer. What would you ask God if you were at the Wailing Wall?”

She looks at me as though I have lost my mind, but jots her prayer and then folds the paper neatly in two.

I take her hand and lead her outside in front of our house, which is built largely of mammoth Arkansas stones. Over decades, the mortar has chipped away, leaving holes.

“It may not be the Wailing Wall, Mom, but it is your home. I'll try and get you to Jerusalem one day, but for now let this be your holy place.”

My mother hugs me and then gets on her knees, in the dark and cold, and begins to pray, before placing her note in the exterior stone wall of our house.

The moon is bright. It illuminates the snowflake pattern on the crocheted cap she is wearing to keep her head warm.

When she is done, she stands and we head back inside. We make hot chocolate, sit in front of the fire, stare at the tree, and watch
Wheel of Fortune
.

“What did you pray for in your note?”

My mother laughs heartily. “I knew you'd ask. You've always been inquisitive.”

“Is that a nice way to say nosy?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me,” I say, a bit too desperately.

“I thanked God for a blessed life. I asked Him to take care of my son after I was gone, and I asked that He give you strength and faith, because you will need it.”

My mother, just as I thought, did not whine, or cry, or ask why.

She thanked God for a blessed life. And asked him to protect the weak.

I am forty-three years old.

I no longer believe in Santa Claus, or that life is anything but a bruising experience, but I have now come to realize that as an adult I
must
believe, as a child does, in something magical, be it faith, hope, God, Rudolph, the Easter Bunny, or the Wailing Wall.

Because that is the only thing that keeps me upright, going, keenly aware of the fact that perhaps, just perhaps, I have right in front of me the best holiday gift I will ever receive: Christmas with my mother.

Vanna turns a lit letter, and my mother grabs my hand.

The phrase is “Jewish Delicatessen.”

I guess it with only a few letters in place.

To “TEAM WADE!,” which includes my fabulous agent Wendy Sherman; my talented, tireless editor Julia Pastore; my steadfast publishers Shaye Areheart and Maya Mavjee; my creative publicity team of Dyanna Messina, Campbell Wharton, Rachel Rokicki, Sandi Mendelson & Co.; my marketing magician Kira Walton; my fabulous cover designer Kyle Kolker; Carol Fitzgerald and her wonderful Web team at the Book Report; my friends and family; my main mutts Marge and Mabel; to all the incredible bookstores, sellers, and staffers whose support has meant the world; to libraries for promoting reading and keeping authors' work alive forever; and to Team Wade lead cheerleader Gary Edwards, whose spirit fingers and halftime performances keep me sprinting for the end zone. I am designing us all uniforms (with a logo and mascot of either a latte, laptop, stylish waders, or my face … I haven't decided) to wear for our inaugural appearance on
Oprah
.

Wade Rouse is the critically acclaimed author of the memoirs
America's Boy, Confessions of a Prep School Mommy Handler
, and
At Least in the City Someone Would Hear Me Scream
, and editor of the humorous dog anthology
I'm Not the Biggest Bitch in This Relationship!
He is a humor columnist for
Metrosource
magazine. Wade lives outside Saugatuck, Michigan, with his partner, Gary, and their mutts, Marge and Mabel. For more information, visit
www.waderouse.com
. Wade Rouse is available for select readings and lectures. To inquire about a possible appearance, please contact the Random House Speakers Bureau at
[email protected]
.