I kept the Santa hat on the kitchen table for three days.
Every time I passed it, I thought about Walter.
I wondered what he would have said about everything that had happened.
He probably would have told me to stop worrying and get on with the day.
Then he would have asked whether I had enough pecans for Christmas.
That was Walter.
He had a way of making ordinary things seem more important than they were while making the important things seem surprisingly simple.
By the first week of December, our plans were settled.
We would spend Christmas morning at Westdale, helping prepare the community meal.
Afterward, everyone would come to my house.
There would be dinner, presents, and pecan pie.
Renee had promised to bring the casserole she had made the previous year.
Patricia would prepare the stuffing.
Adam had volunteered to handle the turkey.
I had written everything on my kitchen calendar.
This time, I wrote the names of everyone who was coming.
I didn't want to leave anything to assumption.
On the evening before Christmas, Lily called me.
“Grandma, do you still have Grandpa's Santa hat?”
I smiled.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Can I wear it tomorrow?”
“You can try.”
She laughed.
“Dad says it used to fall over Grandpa's eyes.”
“That was part of the entertainment.”
She asked whether I would be handing out presents again.
I told her we would see how the day went.
After we hung up, I took the hat from the table and placed it beside my handbag.
I had finally stopped treating it as something too precious to touch.
It was a hat.
A worn, ridiculous, faded red hat.
But it carried memories I wanted the children to have.
The next morning, I arrived at Westdale before the others.
The air was cold, and the parking lot was nearly empty.
I carried my handbag inside and went straight to the kitchen.
Clare was already there, checking the food deliveries.
She looked up when I entered.
“Joanne! You're early.”
“I thought I'd better get here before Adam starts trying to cook.”
She laughed.
“Your son has already promised to help with the turkeys.”
“That is exactly what worries me.”
We both laughed.
Then I tied on my apron and began working.
The dining hall looked much as it had the previous year.
Paper snowflakes hung from the walls.
Small Christmas trees stood near the windows.
Tables had been covered with bright cloths, and volunteers were arranging plates and cutlery.
I found myself looking toward the storage room.
The gray cabinet was still against the far wall.
The handwritten label remained on its door.
WALT'S CABINET.
I walked over and checked the handle.
It opened smoothly.
Adam had done a good job repairing it.
I ran my hand over the metal surface.
For years, I had thought of that cabinet as one more object Walter had left behind.
Now it seemed to represent something different.
My son had repaired it.
Not because I asked him to.
Not because anyone offered him money.
He had done it because he wanted to contribute to a place that had mattered to his father.
I felt proud of him.
I was still looking at the cabinet when I heard footsteps behind me.
“Mom?”
Adam stood in the doorway wearing a red volunteer apron.
He looked at the cabinet, then at me.
“Does it work properly?”
I smiled.
“Perfectly.”
He nodded.
“Gus checked it after I finished.”
“Your father would have liked that.”
Adam looked at the label.
“I think he would have.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he put his arm around my shoulders.
“Ready to work?”
I leaned against him briefly.
“Always.”
The others arrived a little later.
Renee and Patricia came together, carrying bags of ingredients.
Lily followed with a stack of paper napkins.
Noah was carrying a small box of rolls that he insisted he could manage himself.
He nearly dropped it before we reached the kitchen.
Adam caught the box.
“Careful, buddy.”
“I had it.”
“Of course you did.”
I laughed.
The children were eager to help, although their idea of helping changed every few minutes.
Lily arranged the napkins.
Noah counted the rolls, lost count, and started again.
Renee and Patricia prepared the stuffing.
Adam worked on the turkeys while Gus supervised him from a safe distance.
I returned to my usual place beside the mashed potatoes.
It felt good to be there.
Not because everything was perfect.
Because nobody was pretending to be perfect.
When Adam needed help, he asked.
When Renee wasn't sure where something belonged, she checked with Clare.
Patricia admitted when she had forgotten an ingredient.
We solved each small problem as it came.
There was no shame in asking.
That lesson had taken us longer to learn than it should have.
By late morning, the dining hall began filling with guests.
People arrived in winter coats, carrying children, bags, and sometimes nothing at all.
The volunteers greeted everyone.
Clare moved between the tables, making sure the meal was ready.
I served potatoes.
Adam helped carry trays.
Renee and Patricia brought food from the kitchen.
The children handed out rolls and napkins.
At one point, Noah looked at a man sitting alone near the window.
“Why is he here by himself?”
I followed his gaze.
“Maybe he doesn't have anyone to spend Christmas with.”
Noah thought about that.
“Then he can sit with us.”
I looked at him.
He seemed completely certain.
“That's a kind idea,” I told him.
He went to ask Clare whether the man could join one of the family tables.
She helped arrange a place for him.
Noah returned looking pleased with himself.
I watched him run back toward his sister.
For a moment, I remembered Walter carrying groceries into the center years earlier.
He had never made a great speech about helping people.
He had simply noticed what needed doing.
Then he had done it.
Perhaps that was why his influence had lasted so long.
It wasn't in the objects he collected.
It was in the small decisions he had made when nobody was watching.
Near noon, I stepped away from the serving counter to refill a bowl.
Clare was standing beside the storage room door.
She nodded toward the office.
“There's something I want you to see later.”
I glanced at her.
“What is it?”
She smiled.
“Nothing urgent. Finish your work first.”
I returned to the kitchen.
There were still meals to serve.
And for the first time in a long time, I was happy to have somewhere I needed to be.
Source: kaylestore.net
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: A Young Mother Approached My Serving Table With Her Child, and Her Quiet Words Showed Me What Walter’s Legacy Had Really Become
My Daughter-in-Law Took Christmas Away From Me, and I Had No Idea What My Son Was Hiding
Part 9 of 12
