Precious Memories of the Christmas Holiday: A Girl Learns Christmas' True Meaning

Every year about this time, the holidays begin. Children start making lists, bells are rung, and the red kettles are filling. People begin to rush around trying to find the perfect present or the have to have toy, while others sit alone mourning the loss of a loved one. Let us not forget the chores of Christmas, stringing the lights, sending cards, having family portraits made, the cooking, baking cleaning and preparing for the big event. Yet, each year I spend time thinking about Christmas past and relish the idea of building a new memory. For it is in the building of new memories that we share special times and experiences with those we love the most.

Who does not remember the year they discovered a shinny new bike under the tree? Or that special gift you were dying to have, but for me Christmas past has not always been a happy occasion. I will never forget the year that my brothers were almost killed in an accident. I was supposed to be in the car as well, which at first made me feel guilty. They were on their way to the store for mom to get some milk and bread, but hit a patch of ice and totaled the car. It was around a tree on a back road, my eldest brother had to leave three people trapped in the car and get back to the main road to find help. There were no cell phones, but as he told the story, no one wanted to stop for a kid who was bleeding from his face. Two passengers including my brother ended up spending the entire holiday season in the hospital, where we visited with him each day.

It was Christmas Eve we had not put up a tree or decorated the yard, nothing. Our normal tradition was to decorate the yard the day after Thanksgiving and hunt for the perfect live Christmas tree sometime around the 15^th. This would be the year without a Christmas. I suppose that is why the song, I'll have a blue Christmas has always been one of my favorites. I was 13 years old, and I couldn't understand why we had to give up Christmas, this was the only time of the year that held any joy in our family, now that too was gone. I can remember falling asleep that night crying not knowing what the morning would bring. I honestly thought that Santa would visit and make things right. I was much too old to believe in Santa but I have always thought that there was a spirit of Christmas. I convinced myself this was just one of my fathers' cruel jokes and we would awake to a tree surrounded by presents, and the joy of the season would overflow our home.

Christmas morning proved to be dismal. There were four children, mom, dad and grandma, crammed into the giant blue 1978 Cadillac on our trek to the hospital. Not more than two words were spoken on the ride; no one knew what to do. This was not what Christmas was about. As we past by friends homes, I imagined the joy they were feeling opening gifts, while I was stuck in this car with nothing. Too afraid to cry or say anything else because dad was not festive that holiday season, we continued on in silence. Finally, we arrived at the hospital and unloaded.

Entering the hospital there were people everywhere smiling, laughing, I remember watching a family leaving that morning, and thinking I bet they have gifts waiting for them at home. We rode the elevator up to the fourth floor and went to my brothers' room. There he was a broken arm, his leg in a sling, having problems breathing because of a few broken ribs and his face was scarred yet he had a smile on his face. He told my father that Santa had visited the hospital and left gifts for everyone. Next to his bed was a pile of gifts that the hospital Santa gave to him, now he was handing them to his family. I think this was the first time I saw my father cry. He had gifts for all, nothing fancy, oranges for grandma, gloves for mom, chess game for my youngest brother, chocolate covered cherries for my oldest brother, my sister and me had stuffed animals, and for dad, the biggest gift that was sitting there, a new coat.

I noticed that he had no gift, he said, his gift was being able to make our Christmas Merry. He wanted us all to know how much he appreciated us coming every day. The year without a Christmas holds precious memories for me. The glow on his face and the warmth that filled the room, it was finally Christmas. The decorations were bad, there was no tree, but the love that was shared in that little room is what Christmas really means. I had lost the true meaning of Christmas and God had used this accident to show me that joy does not come in small packages wrapped up under a tree, but in those who love us most and are willing to give more than we are every worthy of receiving.