One More Blessing

Elizabeth Turner |

12/22/2007 - 12/23/07

Third Place, teen stories

A young teen's ability to vividly imagine and empathize with the emotional lives of creatures in the forest that surrounds her informs Elizabeth Turner's short story. The world may not be perfect, Turner tells us, but the love between a parent and child can make up for much that bedevils our lives.

'Momma, what are they doing?" We hide behind a tall pine, the two of us standing in the snow, shivering. Our footprints barely crack the surface of the snow, but there are others, big ones, that destroy its beauty.

My mother looks at me tenderly. "Dear, the world will never be perfect."

She sighs as a chain saw sounds off in the distance. A few more cars swerve around the nearby dirt road. "They don't know what they're doing." She gives me a slight nudge, motioning for us to leave. "It's not good for you to see all of this."

We finally reach a part of the forest where there are no other footprints, where cars are unseen. There are no chopping noises or trees falling ... just peace.

"Momma, why aren't the others out here?" Again, my mother looks me in the eye. Her ears stop their persistent perking. "Dearest one, it's not for me to know." She peers back up at the blank, white sky. "You see, it's going to be Christmas for them."

"What's that?" I ask, always searching for answers.

"Well, Christmas is a time of giving and receiving gifts." Her hazel eyes advance to the untouched nature surrounding us. "It is the season for counting our many blessings. Everyone does that."

Her lips spread to a slight smile. "My blessing is you." I snuggle up to her warm body. "And mine is you?" I ask eagerly.

"Only if you want," she replies with much love.

"I do, Momma. You're my blessing."

I prance along the white fluff that hides the vegetation. Since bitter cold winters don't allow us to easily forage for food, I watch my mother plucking berries on the bushes and gnawing on the young trees for tender bark.

"Momma?" I quietly question. "Yes, dear?" Her voice remains steady and strong. "Can you eat snow?" I ask because my curious personality loves this season.

"Why not try it?" My mother chuckles as I dig my nose into the cold, soft piles of white. "Try just licking the surface," she suggests, as my head disappears below the top of the snow. I bob back up to meet my mother's smile. My tongue, this time, tries stroking the surface.

"Does that work better for you?" I nod my head while continuing the pleasure.

The afternoon vanishes, and my mother and I find a spot in the woods to sleep. "Just a short nap, dear, then we'll explore a bit more of this wonderful season."

She descends to the ground and gently closes her eyes. I snuggle close to her and place my head on her side, hoping to receive extra warmth. But I still need to ask one more thing.

"Momma, when's Christmas?" I whisper.

"Tomorrow, dear. Now sleep."


It is several years later. I have returned to the spot where I first learned of Christmas and its many blessings. Gray snow clouds cover the sky, and the little one beside me snuggles closer to get warm. I peer down at my daughter, remembering that I was once like her. My memories have not faded.

The day before she passed, Momma told me that I would become a father someday. Now I must answer this little one's questions and let her know more about this world. I have to teach her to enjoy winter and enjoy Christmas. I have to tell her that she is my gift, my blessing this year.