The mother of all snowflakes lands on my tongue.

This moment is perfect joy.

Grandpa waves hello to me from the kitchen window that overlooks the driveway.  I wave back, then push long hair away from my face with my armor, a red, hand-me-down mitten, as fluttery snow dusts me and my sisters.  I don’t know it yet, but one day, Grandpa will be gone and tears will catch in my throat when I see his gray sweater lying alone on his chair.  No more waves from Grandpa at the window.

It’s winter in Darien.  I grab Maria’s fake-fur trimmed hood and pull her along, and order Barb to follow me.  We run to Nanny’s yard to make snow-angels, our bodies crazily thrash about in the snow.

Angels in heaven look at me.  My arms pump up-and-down to make wings on the ground.  I pump hard, hope to get rid of the fear that silences me.  I try hard not to be afraid and pray to Jesus to give me strength, just like Mom does.  I try hard to think of good things.  Christmas is almost here.  And with that day, Baby Jesus!  Baby Jesus!  Baby Jesus!

Yesterday, I put Baby Jesus in the manger of my Polish grandparents’ nativity.  Babcia and Dziadzio brought it with them when they immigrated from Poland.  I know that God loved the world so much that he gave us his only Son.  I know that God loves me, and I hold onto this as tight as I can, especially when I feel that no one loves me.  Maybe this is why my grandparents carried the nativity from their homeland, to have something to hold onto.  I don’t know it yet, but one day, Babcia and Dziadzio will be gone, and somehow, some way, I carry the nativity with me.

I follow the tracks of Donna’s white rubber boots as the four of us girls go inside, to Nanny’s warm kitchen.  It is here where I feel that God will protect me from my enemies.  I think Mom must feel this way, too.  It is here where I don’t have to think about the butcher knife weapon that Mom threatened Drunk-Daddy with last night, as she crazily stood on my bed, a mad-woman-as-protector, in front of me and my sisters.  In that moment, I knew that Mom will divorce Daddy.  Her defense is over.  Our world is gone.  I am gone.  I don’t know it yet, well, maybe I do, and my stubborn-self won’t accept it as I fight God’s plan for me, but someday, some way, I believe that there’s not a battle in life that I’m left to fend for myself.  Dear, Sweet, Jesus is with me.  He was always with me.  He was with me in Nanny’s kitchen.  I am armed for all kinds of combat.