A few years ago, Christmas Eve, the two grandkids of my next door neighbor were sitting on the curb in front of grandma's house.
"Why are you two out here so late on Christmas Eve?", I asked.
"We are waiting for Santa's sleigh to fly over the city?", they each replied.
So, I sat down next to them. In complete silence, we just stared straight into the sky for what felt like hours.
Every airplane, every falling star, any object in the sky that night potentially was Santa. For a few minutes, I forgot my age. I lost sight of the reality of Old Saint Nick. As they oohed and awed at anything bright in that sky, I joined in their excitement. I believed again.
Maybe, it was a mere twenty minutes we sat there. It felt like hours.
Grandma opened her screen door and gently asked the kids to come inside. They jumped up, waved goodbye to me and skipped to the house.
As I headed back into my home, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around. It was the grandson.
"Sir, are you leaving milk and cookies out for Santa, too?", he asked.
"I will if you will", I replied.
"No wonder he's so fat", the precocious kid stated; as if he was setting me up for his great punchline.
"Indeed, son". Then I headed back into my warn house.
It was a typical Christmas Eve for me. Alone, some sappy Christmas movie on TV and an inner debate whether I should buy a ham or just make cheeseburgers for my Christmas meal the next day.
I was feeling a little sorry for myself. It's what I tend to do on holidays.
As I laid in my bed that night, I couldn't stop thinking about those minutes I spent on that curb with those kids. I was fascinated with the fact that for one brief moment, I believed again. I considered how contagious Christmas really is; how children can remind us of those simple joys in life.
It was a much needed reality check.
Christmas came and went.
A few days later as I was setting the trash can on the curb, the grandma next door approached me.
She handed me a paper plate with carefully wrapped Christmas cookies. Appreciative of her kindness, I thanked her.
"You know, Zach and Ali spent Christmas with me this year. Their father is in the military and currently overseas. And as you know, I lost my husband, Roger, earlier in the summer. If this is my last Christmas, I am thankful to God that I was able to spend it with them."
That was her story. Those were her words.
I really had nothing to say so I simply thanked her for the cookies and told her I was happy she had a great holiday.
A few months later, Lois passed away.
My mom has this old box of all my childhood memories. A lock of hair from my first haircut. My report cards. My creative writing assignments. Pictures. And maybe my favorite thing, a letter I wrote to Santa when I was probably around eight years old.
Dear Santa,
My mommy works a lot and is never home. She's tired. Can you bring her money and can I have an Air Jammer Road Rammer?
your friend.
Mom saved it because she loved the part where I wanted her to have money so she could be home with me more.
Be it kids or a widowed grandmother or simply anyone any age in between, Christmas is about family and loved ones.
Nothing less.
Nothing more.
Very true! I'm glad the grandmother's last Christmas was spent the way she wanted it to be spent.
ReplyDeleteI remember one of my 5th grade writing assignments, we had to write about a trip we would take if we could go anywhere we wanted. I wrote about taking my mom with me because she needed a vacation from my sisters and my dad...you know, because I was the angel. haha