Christmases Without a Family

I never really had a Christmas until I moved out of my abusive home life. I never really knew what Christmas meant until a few years ago. When I was younger, my parents would buy my four siblings and I gifts, but we were not tight, and they were just presents. In the morning, we would be so hyperactive. We would wait for our parents to make their coffee and get last minute things together. Then they would let us run downstairs and sit next to our pile. We would take turns opening the various boxes, and the youngest sibling would always open first. I was the oldest so I would be last. Our parents would take pictures and for an hour or two, we would be happy.

After that short time, I would become depressed. When one is a little kid, they do not think about the things that I thought. I cried to myself, wishing that the moment could last forever, but instead every child in my family sat in there designated spot in the house's first floor and played with there new things, not being allowed to talk to one another, especially me.

Christmas after Christmas, for fourteen years it was just like that. "There is nothing special about it," my parents would say, "It's just another day." I was sad, depressed, and alone. I had not had a good Christmas, felt togetherness, or even love on this day where I should have felt it plentifully. Then, after we started moving, came the shelters, the foster homes, and the hospitals. At the second foster home in Glassboro, NJ, I had decorated the Christmas tree all by myself. It was an accomplishment, something I did all by myself in which I truly took pride. I put the ornaments on, the tinsel, and it was me who stood on top of the arm of the sofa and placed the star on the tip. I covered it with lights and I was happy, glowing with the tree as I illuminated it.

That Christmas, the tree was the only thing I was happy about, because when Christmas came, I was once again let down. My foster parents had their own child, only one, and he was spoiled. Two years old, he received the world: a motorized car he could actually sit in, a game system, and love, so much love. I got a hand-held AM/FM radio, dollar store perfume, and other stupid stocking stuffer gifts. Upset was all I could be, but graciousness is all I could show.

The next year I was in a hospital in Virginia. I felt more loved there than I had anywhere else on the twenty-fifth of that December. I received presents from my DYFS (Division of Youth and Family Services) worker, the hospital I stayed in, and even the friends that I had made there. Along with some other girls of Christian religion, we gave thanks to God for the birth of His Son and for the friendships we shared. We were from all over the east coast of the United States but He brought us together and because Of Him, we had a great Christmas. I am sure it is there I realized that maybe if I would have always given Him the Glory on his day that I would have felt better about the way my day was progressing. Christmas was not and never will be about presents.

Although I wish that I would have been loved as much as others were I know now that God always loves me and to Him I am special. On Christmas, I will continue to find people with whom I can bond and vow to never again have a bad Christmas.

For more information, contact the author at riicearonii@yahoo.com