I woke up on Christmas morning before the alarm I had forgotten to set.
For a moment, I thought I was back in Raleigh.
Then I saw the blue shutters.
The little courtyard.
The unfamiliar ceiling above my bed.
I remembered where I was.
Portugal.
I sat up and reached for my phone.
There were messages from Joanna, Derek, and the grandchildren.
I smiled.
I had missed them more than I expected.
I had also slept better than I had in years.
That was something I didn't know how to explain.
I got dressed and made coffee.
The house was quiet.
I looked at the little wreath hanging on my door.
Inês had left it there before Christmas.
It was simple.
A few green branches tied together with a red ribbon.
I thought about the decorations at Derek's house.
The gold glasses.
The beautiful table.
The food I would have spent hours preparing.
I wondered whether Cassandra had managed to cook the turkey.
Then I stopped myself.
I didn't need to know.
I had come to Portugal because I wanted to spend Christmas differently.
I needed to let myself do that.
I ate breakfast beside the kitchen window.
The bread was fresh.
The coffee was strong.
Outside, the street was beginning to fill with people.
I could hear footsteps on the cobblestones.
Someone was calling to a neighbor.
A door opened.
Then closed.
I smiled.
It was an ordinary morning.
But it belonged to me.
A little later, Joanna video-called.
She was wearing pajamas and holding a large mug of coffee.
Her hair was pulled back.
She looked tired.
But she was smiling.
"Merry Christmas, Mom!"
"Merry Christmas, sweetheart."
She asked to see the house.
I picked up the phone and walked through the rooms.
I showed her the kitchen.
The little bedroom.
The courtyard.
The wreath on the door.
She laughed when I showed her the tiny table where I had been painting.
"Are you actually painting every day?"
"Not every day."
"Mom."
"All right. Almost every day."
She smiled.
I told her about the bakery.
I told her about the little shops.
I told her about the watercolor that had looked like a blue towel in a bowl of soup.
She laughed so hard that I had to explain the picture again.
Then she asked what I was doing for dinner.
"I reserved a table at a little restaurant."
"No turkey?"
"Not unless somebody else cooks it."
She laughed.
I laughed too.
It felt good.
I hadn't realized how much I needed that.
We talked for a while.
She asked whether I was lonely.
I thought about the question.
I missed my family.
I missed the children.
I missed the familiar sound of my own house.
But I didn't feel lonely in the way I had expected.
"I miss everyone," I told her. "But I'm enjoying being here."
She nodded.
"Good."
After we hung up, I got ready to go out.
I walked through the town.
The streets were decorated for Christmas.
There were lights above the narrow roads.
People were carrying bags.
Some were stopping to talk.
I passed a shop selling little ceramic houses.
I stopped to look at them.
I thought about bringing one home for Joanna.
Then I thought about the grandchildren.
I chose a few small gifts.
Nothing expensive.
Just things that reminded me of the place.
I put them in a bag and continued walking.
That afternoon, I sat in the courtyard.
I had brought Leonard's old gray sweater.
I wore it when the air became cold.
I thought about how much he would have enjoyed the little house.
He had always liked quiet places.
He would have sat beside me and asked what I was painting.
Then he would have pretended to understand the answer.
I smiled.
I wished he could have been there.
But I was glad I had come.
Later, I went to the restaurant.
I had made the reservation the day before.
I was nervous about eating alone.
I had never spent Christmas dinner in a restaurant by myself.
The table was small.
There was a candle beside the window.
I ordered a simple meal.
Nobody stared at me.
Nobody asked why I wasn't with my family.
Nobody expected me to serve anyone.
I ate slowly.
I looked out at the street.
I thought about the years I had spent cooking Christmas dinner.
I had enjoyed many of those meals.
I had enjoyed seeing my children open presents.
I had enjoyed watching the grandchildren run around the house.
But I had also spent so many hours in the kitchen that I had rarely sat down long enough to enjoy the day.
This time, I had.
I returned to the house after dinner.
The streets were quiet.
I could hear church bells in the distance.
I sat in the courtyard for a few minutes.
Then I went inside and made tea.
I checked my phone.
There was a message from Cassandra.
"We're doing a smaller dinner tomorrow. I ordered the turkey from a local place. It's not the same as yours."
I smiled.
I wasn't sure whether she was complaining or trying to tell me something kind.
Then another message appeared.
"I probably shouldn't have said what I said at Thanksgiving. I was trying to be funny."
I read it again.
I thought about Thanksgiving.
The dining room.
The turkey.
The guests.
Cassandra's laughter.
Derek looking down at his plate.
I remembered how I had felt.
I didn't want to pretend it hadn't mattered.
But I also didn't want to spend the rest of my life holding on to that moment.
I typed a reply.
"I appreciate you reaching out. What you said hurt because cooking is something I do for people I love, not all that I am."
I sent it.
Then I put the phone down.
I didn't expect her to understand everything immediately.
I didn't expect one message to change our relationship.
I simply wanted her to know why the joke had hurt.
A few minutes later, my phone lit up again.
"I understand."
I looked at the words.
They were simple.
I hoped she meant them.
I didn't reply immediately.
I sat beside the window and listened to the bells.
I thought about Derek.
I thought about Joanna.
I thought about the grandchildren.
I missed them.
But missing them didn't mean I had made the wrong choice.
For years, I had believed that a good Christmas meant making sure everyone else was happy.
That night, I began to understand that I could love my family and still enjoy a Christmas that belonged to me.
I turned off the kitchen light.
I went upstairs.
I was tired.
But I was peaceful.
And that was enough.
Source: lessoninlife.net
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: I Had Gone to Portugal to Find a Little Peace, but My Son’s Next Phone Call Made Me Realize How Much We Still Needed to Say
I Thought Being a Good Mother Meant Always Saying Yes, Until One Thanksgiving Dinner Made Me Question Everything I Had Given
Part 5 of 13
