CHRISTMAS STORIES 2017
Every year, we ask readers to send us their stories of Christmases past, and every year readers respond with memories both happy and, sometimes, heartbreaking. This year is no exception. This week and next in Islander, we share the stories you shared with
Readers share their Christmas stories today and next Sunday in Islander
Better late than never
I will be 71 this Christmas, so there have been many Christmases, some wonderful, some sad and, as with most families, some catastrophic. Still, it has always been a wonderful time of year for me. But the best Christmas ever was the one we celebrated on Jan. 2, 1978.
My husband and I , with our two-and-a half-year-old son, had just moved to Toronto in November 1977. We were alone, not near any family members, not knowing any neighbours. And I was eight months pregnant! There was no real plan for Christmas, being focused on many other issues, but we did decorate a tree and do some quick shopping for our son.
My daughter decided to arrive right on schedule Dec. 23, so we made a hasty, hesitant and grovelling call to our neighbour we barely knew to babysit our son and off we rushed for the birth expecting to be home in a few days — maybe even Christmas Day. Complications arose and I was forced to spend a week in hospital. My Christmas Day there consisted of a bowl of red and green Jello, carol singing by some of the staff and my daughter arriving from the nursery swaddled in a Christmas stocking.
I arrived home on New Year’s Eve, tired and barely mobile and we attempted to adjust to being a family of four. On New Year's Day, we gathered our thoughts, and decided the next morning would be the exciting event. And it was magical! Our son erupted with the expected excitement of some new toys, while our daughter slept peacefully in her cot. There were gifts for us all from family members, although I have no memory of what they were. They did not seem important.
I sat with my daughter at times in my arms, my son and my husband playing new games and I experienced the most overwhelming feelings of joy, contentment, strength gained from overcoming adversity and a sense of being so blessed. We were a family and ready to share in everything that life would hit us with — together. It was not Christmas in any other homes that day but the spirit of Christmas was alive in our house and that’s all that mattered.
There were no visitors that day. It was very quiet. We settled for roast beef instead of turkey for dinner and, following in his mother’s childhood footsteps, my son threw up, being overcome with excitement.
But while other Christmas memories fade or merge together, I can always return to that perfect one, that simple one, Jan. 2, 1978, and relive the joy and peace I felt that day.