I’ve not sure Christmas lights have ever shone so brightly in the entire history of mankind.
Surely they’ve never had a reason to, until now. And maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. Maybe I’ve reading more into the situation than I have a right to. I don’t care. For the first time since I was a child, these lights twinkle and shine with promise. For the first time in my life, they bring me a sense of peace. When I was a kid, the lights drummed up anticipation in my heart. What would Santa bring me? Would I get that new toy I was so desperately aching for? And then, the illusion of Santa was shattered and the lights dimmed in my eyes, becoming empty and frivolous for a short time. Forever after, the lights never quite brought that childlike awe and wonder to me, not even when my breath was stolen away by Christmas displays around the world.
But this Christmas?
This Christmas, everything has changed.
Everything.
Because of her.
The woman standing beside me, her head on my shoulder.
The woman who often barges into my apartment in the middle of the night, moving frantically and speaking even faster as she tells me what break she’s found or what theory she’s concocted to help our investigations.
The woman who gave me a key to her apartment simply because we’re best friends and partners at work.
The woman who’s held my heart since the instant my eyes first beheld her as she stormed through my interview with Perry.
The woman I am committed to one day divulging my deepest secret to, regardless of if we ever move past the “just friends” stage.
The woman I want to spend every remaining second of my life with, even though we’ve never gone on so much as a single date.
Lois Lane.
In Lois, I see my future. I see hope. Goodness. An unrelenting zest of life. An unapologetic perseverance to see justice done. I see such blinding intelligence. And don’t get me started on her beauty.
In short, I see in Lois everything that I’ve always hoped to find in a woman. She embodies perfection. When I’m with her, I feel complete. Like all the missing pieces of my heart have been found and been put into place.
She is the miracle I always prayed I’d find.
She’s the soulmate I was never truly convinced existed. At least, not for some kid who fell from the stars to live on Earth.
For the first time in my life, I’m not going home for Christmas Eve. Instead, I’ve chosen to remain here, in Metropolis, my new home. It’s weird. I’ve been just about everywhere on this planet. And nowhere has ever felt like home to me, except for Kansas, where I was born and raised. Until I landed in Metropolis, that is. Instantly, this city felt more like home to me than the fields and comfortably small town I’ve known all my life. Meeting Lois merely sealed the deal for me. As soon as I met her, I knew I would never leave this city again. Not by choice, at any rate. I would do whatever it took to make sure I could live out the rest of my life here, even if it meant dressing up in a bright, distracting Spandex suit in order to use my powers without putting my identity – and my life – in jeopardy.
For the first time in my life, the idea of not going home for Christmas doesn’t bother me. I’m more at peace than I’ve ever been. I’ve known for a long time now that it’s not the packages all wrapped up in bright, shiny paper that make the holiday. It’s not the tree. It’s not the lights, beautiful as they are. It’s the people. It’s the love and the merging of hearts. Standing here with Lois brings that into sharp focus for me.
I love her.
And it brings my heart immeasurable joy to see her so happy. When everyone ditched her last minute for their own holiday plans, my heart broke for her. I watched the tentative hope for a memorable and wonderful Christmas die in her eyes. She held back her emotions as much as she could, of course. Lois Lane is not a woman who lets people see her be vulnerable – not if she can help it. Except, maybe, for me. She’s let me see her softer, more vulnerable, more emotional side quite often, especially once we truly became friends, right around the time we flew out to Smallville and I nearly lost my life to that lunatic, Trask.
Choosing to stay with Lois tonight was one of the easiest decisions I’ve ever made. I would rather die than leave her to sit home, alone and upset, on what should be the happiest, most magical night of the year. Especially given how crummy her Christmases were growing up. I was surprised at the stories she told me. Surprised and saddened down to my very soul. I’m determined to give her a reason to love the holidays once again.
I think I may have succeeded a little. When she opened her door and saw me standing there, her face lit up in a way that I’ve only seen a scant few times before. I was thrilled to be able to surprise her like that. And then, when I gave her my gift – a crystal star plucked from the very universe that somehow sent me to Earth and into her life – the raw emotion I saw cross her features is something I’ll never forget. I saw true wonderment in her eyes and, for a moment, I saw what she must have looked like on her earliest Christmas mornings, back when her parents had still been in love and attentive to their daughters. It was more beautiful than I can put into words.
And now, standing beside her at her window, listening to the distant sound of carolers out on the street below, watching the snow drift lazily down from the clouds, I can’t help but to think that this moment has been the most perfect moment of my life so far.
***
Christmas lights. So often taken for granted. Sure, we ogle over them when we first put them up. We ooh and ahh the appropriate amount as we remember once again how beautiful they can be. And then, within a few days, they merge into the background of our daily lives, to only occasionally be noticed and appreciated the way they should be. By the time New Year’s Eve rolls around, even those fleeting moments tend to be even scarcer than before and sometimes we even look forward to taking them all down and “reclaiming” the places where they’ve dutifully burned for a month or so, chasing away the darkness and promising us a magnificent holiday season.
We all do it, I think. Even me. As much as I love Christmas, I’m only human in the way that I perceive the world, even if I’m not actually genetically a human. I can sometimes get too wrapped up in my day to day life and forget to stop and savor all the sights, sounds, smells, and even feelings of the Christmas season until it’s too late and the holiday is already upon us.
But not this year.
This year, I know I’m lucky to be experiencing any of this.
I almost lost my life this Christmas season.
If not for the bravery of Lois’ father, and the selfless way Lois’ mother shoved aside her anger at - and mistrust of - her ex-husband to assist him, I would be dead right now, instead of sitting here with Lois, her parents, and my own. That Kryptonian virus would have stolen me away from this world. Away from Lois. It would have robbed me of my greatest desire – to become Lois’ husband. To add a wedding band to the diamond ring I already adorned her finger with. To say my vows and pledge my heart, my body, and my life to her in a formal setting before all our friends and family.
Coming so close to oblivion, everything seems brighter to me now. Newer. More wonderous. Far more precious and deserving of my attention than ever before. There’s a renewed sense of purpose inside of me, to enjoy even the simplest things because I know now how easily they can be yanked away in less than a heartbeat.
Lois.
She pulled me back from the edge.
It’s hard to explain, and even harder for most people to believe, I’m sure, but when I was in that coma, there was nothing but darkness. I was walking wide-eyed in a void where I couldn’t see a thing. But I could feel a steady decline, like walking down a mountainside. And I knew that, at some point, I would come to the edge of the cliff and tumble off without warning. When that happened, there would be no coming back from it. I would die. It was one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever experienced. I was almost frozen with fear, but some force kept me moving through the darkness to my doom.
Just as I reached that sharp cliff, one foot suspended over the abyss as I fought to keep my balance and not pitch forward into nothingness, I heard her calling to me. Her voice cut through the void, clear as day, calling my name over and over as I called back to her – whisper soft and weak at first, but growing into a shout as I pulled myself back from the point of no return, breaking the hold the darkness had on me and propelling me back into the world of the living. How I heard her voice, I’ll never know. It was if though some kind of telepathic link existed between us at that moment, giving me the strength I needed to break my invisible chains and send me rocketing – literally – to her aid when she needed me.
Whatever it was, whatever explanation is out there for what happened, I’ll be eternally grateful for it. It saved my life.
Lois saved my life.
So this Christmas, more than any other, I celebrate the gift of having lived another year, of having my loving family around me, of being able to enjoy all the nuances that make up the holiday, of having a future to look forward to. And the lights – one of my favorite things about Christmas – remind me of how Lois’ voice destroyed the darkness I wandered in, just as they themselves brighten the early dark of the winter night.
***
Home for the holidays.
How sweet that idea sounds to me.
Finally, finally, Lois and I are spending our first Christmas together in our new home, as husband and wife, the way we were always meant to be.
Oh, sure, it’s just the day after Thanksgiving now and we’re home again after having flown out to Kansas to be with my folks for the day. But Lois and I are already in full holiday mode. Err, well, I am, at least. Lois is trying. And that’s more than enough for me. I can’t say I blame her for reluctance. She doesn’t have the best track record with Christmas. Too many of them were ruined for her as a child – warring parents, a drunken mother, a cheating father, a broken home. Most of them have been disasters as an adult – family and friends who never showed up to celebrate with her, atomic space rats who turned the city’s residents into greedy children, a fiancé who almost died.
I’m determined to make sure this Christmas is perfect for her. I’ll work double time to make sure the entire month of December leading up to the holiday is magical for her. I want her to see what I see when I look forward toward Christmas. I want to give her the Christmas she deserves but was always so cruelly robbed of. And I will. I swear on my life I’ll make certain she has an amazing holiday season.
That’s why I woke up with the sun this morning and started decorating, flying out to Kansas to retrieve the decorations I’ve kept stored there. I didn’t have room for it all in my old apartment, so Mom and Dad kept everything safe for me at home. But now that Lois and I have a house of our own, all of these amazing, priceless artifacts of my past will come to be stored in our attic, as they should be.
Let’s see. I’ve hung the wreaths. Festooned the mantel with our stockings. Trimmed every doorway with a drape of plastic evergreen garland bedecked with red bows and tiny, shiny red and silver ornaments. Cleared away a space in the living room for our tree. Stacked the boxes of ornaments just to the side, ready and waiting for the tree to be chosen and brought home. Changed the towels in the bathrooms to festive wintery themed ones. Hung strands of colorful lights in every window.
The lights.
They make me smile.
The warm light they throw off reminds me so much of the love I see shining in Lois’ eyes every single day. In fact, they seem almost dim in comparison to the spark of life and joy I see in my wife. Like so many multicolored stars, they twinkle and almost dare me not to make wishes upon them. And maybe it’s my inner child, but I succumb to that Siren call. I have but two wishes to make this year.
Firstly, I wish for Lois’ happiness. Whether or not she ever comes to embrace the holidays with anticipation and enthusiasm isn’t what I mean. I just want her to be happy in all aspects of her life. I want to be the one to make her smile and laugh, always. I want that alluring zest for life to always burn bright within her. I want to never cause her sadness of any kind – be it in getting too wrapped up in my duties as Superman or in letting an investigation we’re involved in distract me from her or in doing or saying anything that causes her pain or distress. I want to be her refuge from the sometimes too harsh world – her safe haven where she can feel loved and secure no matter what.
Secondly, I wish that, one day in the future, we have a family of our own, with whom we can share the new traditions we’ll be making and starting this year. Kids of our own to love and shower with gifts. A reason for me to go out and buy a Santa suit, fly up to the roof, and make a show of coming down to hand out gifts, though fitting down chimneys is not one of my powers. Tiny people to tuck into bed and read The Night Before Christmas to. A joyful reason to wake up super early on Christmas morning. Little tornadoes of activity that tear the wrapping paper off their gifts and squeal with delight as they uncover each surprise that has laid in wait for them beneath the tree.
We’ve talked about it, Lois and I, and we both agree. We’d love to welcome a child or children into our budding family someday. We’re not ready yet, of course. We’re only just married and settled into our home. We need time to be together as a couple first. Especially given what a long and torturous road it’s been to get to this point. A kidnapping. Amnesia. A Lois clone. Even worse amnesia. A Kryptonian wife. A duel to the death. A wedding destroyer. Lois being framed for murder.
And those have been the easy roadblocks to get around. Lois finding out my secret was unequivocally the hardest obstacle to overcome. Everything else I knew we could get through. But the hurt I’d caused Lois by deceiving her about Superman…I wasn’t sure she would ever forgive me. I spent many a sleepless night wondering if my lies were something our relationship would ever recover from. Until, one day, I saw a change in Lois and some small voice inside my heart whispered that everything was going to be okay after all.
Still, it’s been…a lot, to say the least. We need time to recuperate from all of those setbacks and just enjoy being married for a time before we even attempt to bring children into the chaos of our lives.
It’s silly, making these wishes on the artificial lights, newly unboxed and tacked up with tape, but I believe in Christmas miracles, and somehow, I feel like these wishes somehow have a better chance of coming true because of what these lights mean to me.
***
All the lights are out, save for the Christmas tree and the lighted garland on the mantel. The world is quiet, here in the private sanctuary of our home. Lois is asleep. Our boys are snuggled down in their beds, no doubt dreaming of the gifts Santa will be delivering overnight. Even our baby daughter is sleeping now, right here in my arms after yet another middle of the night snack and diaper change. She’s so tiny, just a month old, but she’s already got a personality as big as they come. She’s definitely her mother’s child, in the best way possible.
But she is asleep and still right now. I know I should put her back to bed in her crib, but I just can’t bear to put her down. What is it about a child’s first Christmas that eclipses all the others? Which is not to say that all the subsequent Christmases pale in comparison. All of them are special and tug at my heart in just as strong a manner. But the very first Christmas? There’s something just a little extra special about it. Perhaps it’s because we’ve spent so many months preparing for that child to be born, to meet them. Maybe it’s because we’ve envisioned the perfect holiday with our family. Or it could be that we’re just so grateful to have another new member of the family to rejoice with and love.
Whatever it is, I’ve savored that feeling brought about by each of our children’s first Christmases. I don’t ever want to forget that feeling.
My children aren’t supposed to exist. Dr. Klein said so. “Not compatible for reproduction.” Those were his exact words, stammered and gently delivered and apologetic as they were. Lois didn’t want to believe that…at least, not until her father looked over the medical records and confirmed Dr. Klein’s prognosis. The fact that these three little miracles are alive and healthy is beyond anything I once thought possible. When I think about those awful moments when I was told I’d never have children…when I recall how coldly the adoption agency slammed the door closed on our dream…I’m staggered by overwhelming gratitude that somehow, Lois and I are parents. Parents to perfect half human, half Kryptonian children. I don’t know how. Maybe our love was stronger than biology. Maybe both of the good doctors were mistaken in their prognosis. Maybe some small error somewhere threw off their results. Maybe God or fate or the universe took pity on us. “Man plans and God laughs,” I’ve heard it said. Perhaps it’s true. Lois and I were already making plans to pursue other possible avenues to parenthood – different adoption agencies, looking into private adoptions, even considering letting Dr. Klein in on my secret to see if he could offer any other ideas, like fertility treatments or the still very science-fiction sounding idea of genetic manipulation – when Lois became pregnant with our oldest son.
Six years ago.
It seems like a lifetime ago, like all the ages of the world have come and gone since we first knew we were going to be parents.
And yet, the time has flown by in the blink of an eye.
It feels like another time in another dimension since Dr. Klein refused to look me in the eye while he delivered his devastating news.
None of that matters anymore. The heartbreak. The tears I shed in private, away from Lois, hoping to spare her the pain of seeing how devastated I was. The way we tried to shove our hurt aside and make the best life we could for just the two of us.
All that matters is our family. All that matters is this perfect moment, holding my newborn daughter, listening to the deep, even breathing of my boys sleeping upstairs, finding the steady, comforting heartbeat of my wife. It’s moments like these that make me thank whatever lucky star or benevolent force allowed my spaceship to land on Earth and guided me to Metropolis so that I could meet Lois.
It’s so easy, in the daily chaos of life, to forget to stop and reflect on how lucky I am. Between work, the kids’ schedules, and my duties as Superman, sometimes it feels like there aren’t enough hours in the day to have a quiet, peaceful moment to myself. And that usually doesn’t bother me. I would much prefer to be kept busy with my family than have all the time in the world to be alone. But here in the middle of the night, with only the soft glow of the Christmas lights to illuminate my world, I have all the time I need to reflect. But, in a way, I don’t need to think too much. I know I’m the luckiest man alive.
I found my soulmate. The woman I wished I’d always find. The one person on this planet who I could open up to and be honest with about who I really am. The one woman capable of accepting me as I am – an alien posing as a human, except for the times when I fly around in a Spandex suit, using my powers to help people if I can. The person who has protected me the most in this life – or at least as much as my parents have, though in different ways. Because of Lois, because of the way she wrote that first article on Superman, the public embraced me, rather than feared me. Over the years, she has endured more than anyone ever should as she’s done whatever needs to be done to protect my identity. Being accused of cheating on me with Superman. Posing with an alternate dimension version of me so the world didn’t know I was missing. Covering for me when I felt obligated to leave the planet and fly to New Krypton with Zara and Ching, all while fumbling my way through customs that were completely foreign to me and feigning a relationship with the birth-wife I’d never even known about until then.
Lois is a rare woman indeed.
I’m a father to the most amazing kids in the world. The miracles who shouldn’t exist. The people who have made my heart – and my life – complete. The tiny versions of Lois and myself who are somehow more than us. My greatest reasons for living. Being their daddy is, without a doubt, the most rewarding, most fulfilling job I’ve ever had.
So, tonight, on this night of all nights, I sit and silently reflect and count each of my numerous blessings.
***
Dull. Flat. Uninspired. Dim. Almost non-existent. Faded.
It’s moments like this that make me sad.
My eyes are weakening. My body is failing. My life is nearly over.
I can barely see the colors of the Christmas lights now.
My eyes – once so sharp they could read the date off a penny on the ground from up in the clouds – are nearly blind. I can only hope that they retain what little sight they have left for the rest of my – admittedly short – time left on this Earth. Going completely blind scares me. I’ve been blind before – many years ago, thanks to a device some criminals were using. I was lucky to have Lois by my side during those terrifying days of sightlessness. Thanks to her, I was able to regain my vision. And while I put on a brave face and acted as if I were calm and accepting of my situation, internally, I was petrified that I might never be able to see again. I hated all the mishaps I had as I stumbled around in darkness, trying to retain my independence, fumbling my way through tasks I had always so easily taken for granted. I was scared that I might have to give up all my dreams – I would have had to come clean to Lois eventually since Clark couldn’t mysteriously lose his vision at the same time as Superman, and, though I’d vowed to be the best blind person I could be, I had serious doubts that I could continue being a superhero without my sight. I was simply too much of a disaster waiting to happen.
Even now – all but bed-bound and with my powers so faded I can scarcely call myself “super” anymore – I fear the loss of my sight.
I’m no longer worried about knocking holes in the walls simply by bumping into them or anything like that. No. This time, my fear comes from not being able to see my loved ones anymore. To have to rely solely on my, albeit still crystal clear, memories when I want to see the faces of my grown children, my grandkids, and my great-grandkids. To have to conjure up images of Lois in my mind, rather than having the simple solace of flipping through the old photo albums and seeing her smiling face again with my own two eyes.
It’s been more than a year.
400 days, to be exact.
An entire trip around the sun, plus a little extra.
Thirteen whole months since she passed on.
I miss her. I miss her like I’ve never missed anyone or anything in my entire life. I miss her so badly I’m absolutely certain my grief is what’s sapped my powers and is stealing my life away. Oh, I’ve tried to be strong. Tried to fight what’s happening within my body. Tried to shake off some of my anguish so I can be there for my kids. All in vain. My world came to a crashing halt the day my wife died. And it’s literally killing me.
I wish I had more time to be with my children. I love them so much it makes my heart ache with bliss to be with them. And my grandkids and great-grandkids? They’re just the icing on the top of the cake of my life. Forever would not be long enough to be with all of them.
But…I’m tired. And though the idea of dying should scare me, it doesn’t. I’ve had a long, long, full, rewarding life. I’ve seen everything there is to see. I’ve experienced more than most people ever get the chance to. I’ve done all the things I’ve always wanted to do.
I’ve loved and been loved in return.
It’s time I rejoined my wife on the other side of the veil of death. And if there’s an afterlife, the way I’ve always believed there is, I can hardly wait to see her waiting there for me. To take her in my arms again. To feel the softness of her lips on my own again. To see that private smile she always reserved just for me. To hear the wonderous sound of her voice again.
This is my last Christmas. I’ve come to terms with that fact. And I think everyone else knows it too, though I’m not convinced all of them are at peace with it. It may well be the last holiday I ever get to celebrate – I’m not certain I’ll make it long enough to ring in the New Year. I’m okay with that too. I’m ready for the next stage of my journey. I’ve ready to shed this failing, mortal body of mine, vulnerable now to time and hurts and sickness even without the influence of Kryptonite. I’m ready to cross the threshold of death and see what awaits me there, especially if Lois is what I find there.
But all of that doesn’t mean that I’m oblivious to all the sights, sounds, and smells of my favorite day of the year. I can still appreciate the gentle sounds of the Christmas songs playing soft and low on the radio. I can still savor the mouth-watering smells coming from the kitchen as cookies and cakes and pies are baked in preparation for tomorrow. I can still look with awe at the towering Christmas tree, adorned with ornaments – some of them new and some of them even older than I am. I can still bask in the glow of the lights, recalling from memory how bright and merry they should appear to my eyes. I can still remember how my heart used to flutter at the sight of them as a little boy – how they held the promise of Santa and gifts to come. Now, my heart anticipates a different gift – that of a long overdue reunion with the woman who will forever hold my heart.
I close my eyes, think of the lights all aglow all around this vast and awesome world of ours, and let myself drift away to a dream where the lights whisper their promises of eternal bliss with Lois.
The End.
