Found Family

The house was quiet, and all that remained was the debris of a Christmas Day that had flown by. I haunted the living room like a ghost, sauntering by the trash bags filled with discarded gift wrap, the toys that littered the hardwood floor, and the crumbs from cookies that Santa had supposedly eaten. I paced the living room and willed the next day to present itself as quickly as possible.

No matter how I tried, I couldn’t sleep.

The king-size bed in the master upstairs was occupied by a solo sleeper, gently breathing in and out in her new plaid pajamas. The other upstairs room was filled with two children on a bunk bed, each grasping their gifts as they no doubt dreamed of the fun days ahead. Everyone was at ease, but I remained restless.

The light of the Christmas tree was the only illumination in the living room. It was bright enough for me to notice the stack of magazines piled in a basket with a rounded handle on the coffee table. I sat down on the couch and extracted the magazine at the top of the stack. It was called Cozy Living with Nancy Ann.

I spotted my full name and the accompanying address below in a white rectangle toward the bottom-right of the cover. It seemed foolish to pay for a magazine subscription when the internet had the same damn recipes and home-keeping advice for free. Why would I pay for something like this when the very concept bothered me?

Besides, I wasn’t interested in whatever fluff this Nancy Ann woman was peddling. I guess it had been a long time ago when I’d agreed to gift my wife this subscription. As I flipped through the pages carelessly, I could see where my wife must have clipped out some recipes or tips. I discovered today that she had some type of “craft binder” where she stored little things that were useful to her.

I closed the magazine, wincing at the rest of the stack. I sincerely hoped that at least some of those publications were free. It was amazing to me how quickly one could lose track of one’s finances. Maybe it was time for a talk. Maybe it was time to cut down. I set the magazine back on top of the stack and leaned back into the couch.

I nodded off for a few minutes, before a thought interrupted my hard-earned sleep. I could hear my wife saying, “Honey, where’s your ring?” That was an excellent question. I spent the entirety of Christmas Day with her query living in my mind. But for the most part, I hadn’t searched all that well because it was Christmas and her family had come over. It was chaos.

I rose and decided that I would search in earnest. It had to be around the house, somewhere. When I tried to think about where I’d last seen it, I encountered a severe brain fog. To be fair, if I had known where I’d seen it last, I would have already found it. More than likely, it was lost because I was just busy and careless.

I turned the lights on and started my search in the living room. I had already given a cursory glance through the master bedroom, but there was no way I’d search again as my wife slept. I swept through the coffee table, removing candles, cookie boxes, toys, plates, and the remaining paraphernalia of a family Christmas. No sign of the ring.

I checked the floor and shined my phone’s flashlight into the negative space beneath the couch. And while I did find crumbs and coins, I still hadn’t spotted the ring. The mantle over the fireplace was an odd spot for a ring to rest, but I checked anyway. The framed stand-up photos were lined up next to each other on the mantle. In a weird way, I felt that the people in those photos were scrutinizing me, questioning me.

I saw her in the largest photo—my wife. She had long, brunette hair and wore a pair of narrowly-framed glasses that made her appear sharp and witty. There was as much smile in her brown eyes as her lips. There was a small puppy nestled in her arms. I was in the photo, too. When I looked at myself, I didn’t see myself. Years of change and years of marriage will do that to a man.

The next framed photo was one of our kids. A boy and girl only a few years apart were on a seesaw in a public park. They’re both smiling, looking dutifully at the camera. The other photos showed events like family reunions, marriages, and holiday get-togethers.

I felt like the black sheep of the family, and I must have always been. However, I was smiling wide in every photo—that same awkward and goofy smile that God bestowed upon me. I felt like a fool, but I tried on a smile for size. It felt clumsy, like a busboy trying to balance stacks of plates with his hands, stumbling toward the sink. It didn’t feel quite right.

“Honey?”

I jumped. She scared me out of my musing like a crash of thunder. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, but I felt like she’d caught me. I turned to the source of the concerned voice and, sure enough, it was my wife. Her voice sounded off to me, but then again, it was late and my body was already reacting to a night of little sleep.

I stood stiff like a board, even as she approached me and wrapped her arms around me. She placed her head on my chest and squeezed me. “What are you doing up so late?” she asked. It was a simple question stacked atop a series of increasingly more critical questions. But I could handle this one.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said.

“So, you decide to walk around and…?”

“I’m looking for my ring,” I said.

“Oh, is that all? I’m sure it’ll show up.”

I realized how odd it was that she was hugging me and I hadn’t reacted in kind. I was really off my game. I placed my arms around her and pulled her in gingerly. The fabric of her new pajamas was soft and her body felt warm. The way I examined those feelings made me feel quite robotic.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, pulling back just enough to eye me.

I smiled, and it felt weird. “Guess I’m just a little bummed that I can’t find my wedding ring.”

She planted a soft kiss on my cheek. “I tell you what. We’ll focus on that tomorrow. You should really come back to bed. Come on, let’s go.”

“Actually, I’ll be there soon. I just want to check one more place.”

“Okay, but don’t take too long. We’re going to need all our energy for the kids. Tomorrow will be wild. School can’t come back soon enough!”

I heard myself chuckle. And then I slowly leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead.

“You never kiss me there,” she said with a lopsided grin.

“An old dog can learn new tricks, eh?”

She rolled her eyes and then turned around to go back upstairs. I watched her leave. She was gentle on the steps so as to not wake the kids. I didn’t make a move until I heard her walk into the bedroom. As much as I wanted to search as long as it took to find the ring, I knew I would need to join her soon.

The last place I searched was the kitchen and adjoining dining room upstairs. I did remember cutting some vegetables and washing some dishes. I would have removed my ring dealing with food. The counters were sparkling clean, but I saw no sign of my ring. The dining room table was covered in a red Christmas cloth that would have probably made the ring stand out, but there was no luck there, either.

Exhausted and frustrated, I sat down at the dining room table and covered my face. I needed to sleep, to wake up to a better situation. I needed illumination for all this darkness and uncertainty. I tried my best to access the memories that would save me. There was something in my past that was key to finding more than just a ring.

“Honey?”

She was back! I guess she couldn’t wait anymore. But she wasn’t beckoning me to join her in the bed. She sat across from me at the table. Her face was red and her eyes were glimmering under the lone light above us.

“Hey, are you okay?” I asked.

She shook her head. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and sniffled. “Have you noticed anything strange about me?”

That was not the question I had expected. If anything, I thought I was the strange one.

“Uh, no,” I said. I chose my words carefully because, for all I knew, this was one of those test questions that spouses threw around. Whatever my wife was trying to get at, I knew it was serious. I looked at her nails and saw how uneven each one was. She’d reduced them to ragged stubs.

“Earlier today, I forgot the names of our kids,” she admitted.

I felt my face go numb. If I had a mirror, I would have seen a pallor overtake my expression. Then again, her face must have been a mirror of mine. She was horrified of whatever truth she was admitting. Her fingers were interlaced, squirming and squeezing like a ball of worms.

“And this whole day…I never addressed you by your name,” she said.

“Oh…”

A single tear streamed down her cheek. I could tell she was trying to keep herself together. “I don’t know who any of you are,” she said. Something in her was breaking down. I was watching the collapse of a soul in real time. The information she’d provided was in conflict with what I’d witnessed. She had seemed so put-together this entire day, talking with her family so naturally. Passing gifts to the kids first thing in the morning. Treating me so sweetly, the way a healthy spouse would.

“But, I see the pictures on the mantle,” she continued, “and I realize that I must have lived through all those events. I see our wedding photos. There’s even a video of the reception. So, when I say that I don’t know you or the kids, it makes me look like a fool or a crazy person.”

She was in deep pain, and I wanted nothing more than to comfort her. “It’s okay,” I said. “The truth is, I feel the same. That is, I don’t know you. I don’t know who those kids are.”

She wiped her eyes again and then looked at me with shock registering on her countenance.

“I acted weird today, too. But, I went along with everything because…the evidence seems to suggest that we married and had kids. That we’re a family.”

She shook her head. “How did we both forget? How could this be?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

At that time, one of the children stepped into the dining room. She was our youngest, at just four years old. “I had a bad dream,” she said quietly. Her voice was shaky and I could tell she’d been crying.

“Oh, come here, baby,” cooed my wife. Our youngest climbed onto her mother’s lap, and then my wife embraced her.

“It’s all going to be okay,” she said. “It was just a bad dream. We’re here.”

“Natalie,” I said. “It’ll be okay, Natalie.”

My wife looked at me and I nodded. I simply recalled a moment where my mother-in-law addressed our youngest daughter as such. Natalie was starting to calm down. My wife was rocking her gently back and forth, but her expression was one of sorrow and confusion. How could it have all ended up this way? How were we to move forward?

“Mommy, I have a question,” said Natalie, looking up to my wife with earnest eyes.

“What is it…sweetie?”

“Who is the boy sleeping on the top bunk?”