Wishing You (and Me) a Different Kind of Christmas

I'm a little slow this Christmas Eve morning. The usual change of season head stuffiness... and, admittedly, a heart and head that are feeling a little slower than usual. 

These ornaments were made by my mother, Nancy, around 1974 - the first year we spent Christmas in our new house on Kalloramo Drive. Momma was always full of creative ideas and loved calico and gingham check fabrics. Explains why my closet is full of blouses of the same.

It was a tradition that we would pick out a fresh tree shortly after my birthday (December 10). Dad would be in charge of making sure the lights were perfectly placed before we started hanging the ornaments. I recall how he would stand back a few feet and squint to see if they met his approval. Once they did, we could begin our work.

The Christmas of 1977 was different. Momma was ill and was eventually taken to the hospital on December 29. She passed on January 3, 1978, from complications of a rare autoimmune disease (scleroderma). She was only 35. I was eleven. Way too young for either of us.

The Christmas of 1988 was different, too. I took a box of Momma's ornaments and placed them on the little tree in my cramped studio apartment that I had started renting just four months earlier. It wasn't the same as the fresh Frazer firs that Dad insisted we always have, but it would do.

For the next 24 years at Christmas, I would pull this little box out of the attic and place a few of the ornaments on the tree. New ones to commemorate special moments, stepkids, and places visited had been added, so there was less space to place all of them. And that was just fine.

I didn't take out the box of Momma's ornaments for Christmas 2023. I was busy making sure to spend as much time as possible with my Dad. He was in hospice, so I decorated a little tree to place on the dresser table. It wasn't the Frazer he so loved, but it would do.

But we did talk about our past Christmases, laughing about the "Santa Watch" on our local news channel and how it terrified my neighbor-friend so much that she would drop to the floor and fake being asleep while the rest of us were eating sausage balls and drinking spiced tea. We talked about the past - food, family, special memories -- and what the future held for me... and for him. We spent a part of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day together... and then he sent me on my way to "have some fun" with my friends and other family members. It was so difficult to leave him there, but that was what he wanted. It was a different Christmas.

Dad passed on January 28, 2024, in Randolph Hospice House. I've been holding my breath to see how it will be without him here. A few months ago, I had begun to think I was going to skip the holidays altogether, but then I came across the box of ornaments while cleaning the closet. And when shopping at Target, I found a ornament that looked like the watercolor palette that Dad used to keep on his kitchen table because "the lighting was the best there".

So I put up my little tree, strung the lights, and took a few steps back. I squinted and tilted my head to the left and right, just like Dad used to do. 

It's time for another different Christmas. This time, I'll spend it with those who are dear to me, and I'll think of those who aren't as close by as I'd like them to be. And I'll hang Momma's ornaments alongside the new ones that were added because they made my heart feel happy. There is enough space for all of them now.

May you have a different kind of Christmas if that's what your heart needs. New traditions, new foods, new music, new memories. Wishing you peace.