This year, as Christmas approached, I was excited to host the family dinner, but unexpectedly, my brother Ryan and his wife Lindsey showed up at our door, asking to stay with us. Their arrival was unforeseen, and while initially unwelcome, I agreed, unaware of the turmoil that would soon unfold.
A week before Christmas, they arrived, shivering and stressed. Their home’s heating had failed amidst a severe cold snap, making it uninhabitable. Despite my doubts, my husband Nathan and I welcomed them with open arms. Ryan, grateful, dropped their bags in our hallway. “Thanks for letting us stay, it’s tough finding an electrician now, but we’re trying.”
“It’s fine,” Nathan reassured, always hospitable. “Feel at home.”
Initially, all seemed well. However, Lindsey’s antics soon began to grate on me. She took over the main bathroom, leaving it cluttered with her items, despite having a perfectly good bathroom in the guest room. Worse yet, I started finding my clothes in her bags without her even asking to borrow them!
I tried to keep my cool, but my patience was thinning. Yet, nothing could have prepared me for what I found on Christmas Eve. As we gathered for breakfast, I noticed the mantel, usually adorned with festive decorations, was bare. My heart sank.
“Has anyone seen Mom?” I asked, my voice quivering. I was referring to the black marble vase containing my mother’s ashes, which we had placed on the mantel in her memory. It was our first Christmas without her after she passed away from cancer. She had made us promise to keep her ashes in the room during Christmas so she could join us one last time.
This Christmas was meant to be special, with family gathering at my house, but an unexpected visit from my brother Ryan and his wife Lindsey turned the festive mood upside down. Just days before the holiday, they arrived, seeking refuge from their cold, heater-less home. Despite my hesitations, my husband Nathan and I welcomed them, not realizing the storm of emotions that would soon follow.
“Thanks for letting us crash,” Ryan said as they unloaded their bags. “Finding an electrician now is a nightmare, but we’re trying.”
“Of course,” Nathan reassured them, always the gracious host.
At first, it was fine. However, Lindsey’s behavior quickly became a burden. She took over the main bathroom, leaving a mess, and I even found my clothes in her suitcase, borrowed without permission.
But nothing prepared me for the shock on Christmas Eve. While setting up for breakfast, I noticed the living room mantel, where we had placed my mother’s ashes in a black marble vase, was bare. My heart dropped.
“Has anyone seen Mom?” I asked, my voice shaking. It was our first Christmas without her after her battle with cancer, and she had wanted her ashes with us to feel connected during the holidays.
The silence that followed was palpable. Lindsey casually looked up, “You mean her ashes? I threw them out in the backyard. That vase was creepy!”
I was stunned. “You did what?!” My voice escalated in disbelief.
“Just ashes,” she replied dismissively, “Don’t be so dramatic.”
Rage boiled inside me. I stood up abruptly, my chair crashing behind me. Nathan and Ryan had to hold me back as I screamed about her disrespect.
Lindsey just rolled her eyes. “It’s not like she’s going to know,” she scoffed.
Fuming, I stormed outside to search, but found little. The loss of my mother’s ashes felt like losing her all over again. That night, I barely slept, fuming over Lindsey’s audacity.
The drama didn’t end there. Around midnight, Lindsey’s scream pierced the quiet. Nathan and I rushed upstairs to a horrific scene—their room was flooded with sewage from a backed-up bathroom, ruining everything in sight.
“It’s everywhere!” Lindsey panicked atop the bed.
Nathan fought back a smirk. “Looks like a plumbing issue.”
“Why only this room?” I added, trying not to grin too widely. “Must be a Christmas miracle,” Nathan quipped.
Ryan tried to clean up, but Lindsey snapped at him. I couldn’t resist commenting, “Maybe this is karma for what you did to Mom.”
Lindsey glared, but Nathan calmly stated we’d call a plumber. I wondered aloud if this was a sign from Mom, half-joking yet half-serious.
The plumber couldn’t come until after Christmas, so we endured the holiday with the smell lingering. Ryan thanked us for our patience with Lindsey, who was notably subdued during dinner. “I know she can be difficult,” he admitted.
“Difficult?” I responded sharply, still upset about the ashes.
He apologized, saying he hadn’t anticipated her actions. As I watched Lindsey, pale and anxious, I decided this ordeal was punishment enough.
The evening passed without further incident, but Lindsey’s actions were the talk of the dinner, leaving her visibly embarrassed.
After everyone left, Nathan joked, “Think Mom was with us today?”
I laughed, feeling a strange sense of comfort. “Maybe in her own way.”
Nathan hugged me. “Either way, justice was served.”
Indeed, it wasn’t the Christmas we planned, but in those challenging moments, I felt my mother’s presence, guiding us through the storm.