A Christmas to cherish forever
Before-bed read
My great-aunt Joyce has always loved Christmas. The home she shared with her husband, Gilbert, was always impeccably decorated. She had a different Christmas tree in every room, each with its own theme. There were s’mores decorating the tree in the guest bathroom, woodland creatures in the hallway, reindeer in the kitchen, and ornate Old World ornaments in the living room. As kids, we would always look forward to Christmas
Eve dinner at her home, where we would rush to see who would find the ceramic pickle ornament that she’d hidden in her tree. The winner always received a prize, not just some little trinket; her prizes were the best!
Each of the ornaments came with a memory that Joyce shared with anyone who would listen. They came from friends who traveled to exotic locations, gifts from loved ones at Christmas, places she adored and animals that she treasured. She told me that Santa Claus himself brought her one every year.
Even the kitchen table had its own Christmas tree. We gathered around it, year after year, sharing Christmas Eve dinner and stories of the past. I grew up surrounded by a love for Christmas and the knowledge that family was what made it so special. The house was filled with laughter, usually caused by a joke at someone’s expense and food so good we couldn’t help but go back for seconds. My uncle sometimes made it back for thirds.
But this year would be different. A few months earlier, my great-uncle had passed away, and due to her declining health and trouble with her memory, Joyce was moved into a senior living community. The home that she always decorated so beautifully for Christmas was sold, and her belongings were put into storage. Her new home only had room for the essentials.
My mom and I decided that a woman who loves Christmas as much as Joyce would need a Christmas tree. We gathered up all her favorite ornaments and a new, smaller artificial tree and snuck into the facility while she was busy at recreation. We closed the door of her new home and hastily assembled the tree, worried that she might return before we could finish. Mom and I unwrapped each of her delicate ornaments and carefully placed them on the tree. Mom snuck in some room decorations as well and busied herself with placing them on the bed and dresser, while I put the finishing touches on the tree. Everything we brought that day was from Joyce’s collection, each one a memory of days before.
My great-aunt has good days and bad days. Sometimes, she remembers things clearly. Other days, she struggles to recall why she cannot go home. She has always had a strong wit, and her sense of humor helped her cover the decline in her memory for many years. Yet, even on bad days, she still has a joke to crack. She claims the title of “great-aunt” describes her accurately since she is great, and she always whispers to each of us that we are her favorite. She has a lot of favorites, and she doesn’t whisper very quietly, so we all know it.
As she walked into the room that day, she took in the tree and the decorations, and the tears in her eyes twinkled from the lights on the tree. Today was a good day, and she called us both “stinkers” for sneaking into her room and then proclaimed that everyone else was going to be jealous of such a beautiful tree.
As she surveyed her room, she stood a little taller and smiled. She checked on all her little creatures: the stuffed pig now placed under the tree, her Santa Claus ornament, her little angels watching from the dresser, delighting in each. She remembered. She remembered the stories she once told about the hot-air balloon ornament and how Santa snuck it on her tree. She told us about her little Christmas village and the people she remembered sharing it with. She
“She took in the tree and the decorations, and the tears in her eyes twinkled from the lights on the tree”
laughed, remembering us rushing to find the hidden pickle as children and then later as adults. Maturity doesn’t run in our family, but silliness absolutely does. What can I say? We competed for those pickles prizes long after we should have grown up.
She invited the other residents in to see her tree, and she smiled broadly when they complimented her tree. She is tiny, not even five feet tall, but that day she seemed bigger than anything else in that place, and she was sparkling just like her tree. We sat with her that day, and together we remembered Christmases past. While Great-Aunt Joyce’s memories may fade, that day is a blessing that I will never forget.