Christmas Past

We finally got a few days of honest winter around here last week. No snow, but cold enough that I needed a real winter coat to venture outside. The sky was gray, the air crisp, the smell of the cold reminded me of home.

I stepped outside the other night to walk over to a (properly socially distanced and COVID-aware) holiday gathering, and was transfixed by the beauty of the neighborhood. People have outdone themselves around here to decorate their houses; the lights are varied and beautiful and speak to me of hope for better days to come.

As I walked home after our lovely gathering, I took a trip down memory lane.

I remembered a cold Christmas Eve, coming home from mass.  My rear was freezing cold as I sat in the back of the station wagon, but my heart was full as we headed home to open our gifts. We were all there, old enough to know how to sing in parts, and sing we did. I can still hear the sound of the old carols. Mom on the melody - her strong voice carrying the tune, Dad's low, growly, off-key voice riding along. Tony on tenor, Julie and I on alto, and the everyone else singing as the spirit nudged. Surely the angels rejoiced along with us that long ago evening.

I remembered another Christmas. Mom made Julia, Colleen and I matching floor-length flannel nightgowns that year. All I'd wanted for Christmas was a Giggles doll, and Santa had been able to find one for me. It was one of my life's best moments (so far). That Christmas morning, as I sat amidst the debris from the wrappings of gifts for eight kids was strewn about the floor, covered in soft warmth from neck to wrists to toes, playing with the doll I'd wanted so badly, but hadn't expected to receive, I was happy. Completely happy.

Today, too many of those faces are gone; I'll not see their smiles again. The hair of those of us who remain is better kempt than it was that morning, but thinner and tending towards gray. Time has etched its mark on our faces. It matters not. The joy of those distant moments lives on.

As I finished my walk and arrived back home in the present day, I carried the memory of joy through the door and into my waiting bed. I slept a good sleep that night, my mind and heart still partway back in the time-place before I knew deep sorrow. 

While I can't stay there in the past, it's good to know I can visit once in a while. It's good to see their faces and hear their voices once again. 

I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams....