Welcome!
Come out of the cold and sit by the fire. I’ll pour us a cup of tea. It’s been awhile since I’ve been here too, but as the year draws to a close, it’s time to reflect on the past and to tell a story. The story I want to tell is about connecting to those we love, even though they may not be physically present. I hope it warms your heart. If you make it to the end, there is a musical treat for you, provided by my three youngest children.
Are you ready? Okay, sit back and here’s my 2020 holiday story.
Snow Mom
“My mom loved Christmas. She grew up during the depression years with four brothers and a little sister. In those days, getting a few nuts and maybe an orange in your Christmas stocking was a luxury. That time of scarcity left a deep impression on her and her relationship with earthly stuff. I was a young child in the 60’s and early 70’s, a time of endless possibilities; with moon landings, civil rights and women’s lib making great strides through our society, and yet it was a time of lack for my family.
My father drove an Esso oil truck for a living and struggled to provide for our family of six. When it came to Christmas, my parents had to get creative. My mom would save pennies throughout the year and fill our stocking with a few inexpensive toys and candy she had purchased from Woolworth’s, $1.49 day sales. Also, in the weeks leading up to Christmas, long after we were tucked into bed, her sewing machine rattled away, turning old clothes into something new again. One Christmas, she made my sisters and I red, felt skirts, which made us feel so festive and bright and certainly not the poor relations to our richer cousins, whom we met later on Christmas day.
After my dad died in a truck accident in 1965, even though I was only five at the time, I understood we were in a precarious situation money wise. Still, I do remember mom trying to make Christmas special for us in small ways and holiday music always filled our home, making it feel less quiet and sad.
Mom remarried when I was twelve, and for a bit over a decade, we created endearing memories with my step dad, Bud. Oh, those were precious, fun filled years. One Christmas, Bud told us about a lone fir tree out in the country that he drove past on his way to work every day. He said he felt sorry that it was all alone in a large clearing. One crisp night, when the sky was pitch black and the stars were twinkling, we gathered popcorn strings, nuts, and apples and drove out to decorate the sweet little tree. We laughed and giggled as we decorated, and the tree seemed to shimmer happily when Bud placed our homemade, tinfoil star on top.
We used to do spontaneous, goofy things like that all the time, but mom became a widow again in her late 50’s, when Bud had a sudden heart attack and died. When I grew up, I was doggedly determined to be independent. I fought to have control over my destiny and worked hard to provide for myself and also help mom in little ways.
Although I was only twenty five when Bud passed away, I dug in deep to build a safety net for myself and a place for mom to have a secure place in my life. At the time, my three older sisters all had families of their own and since it was just my husband David and I, we included mom in all our activities and holidays. We had movie and pizza nights, we took her for Sunday drives, stopping for ice cream and of course, she was mainly with us on Christmas day. We loved spoiling her with things she only dreamed of; leather handbags, new coats, and one year we gave her a VCR machine so she could watch movies at home. In the 80’s, that was quite a luxury. I’ll never forget the surprised expression of sheer shock and joy on her face as she opened that gift. “Oh Debbie, Oh David, ” she said over and over again, as she hugged the box to her chest, wonder and delight shining in her eyes.
Another Christmas, we gave her a Kodak, instant camera. She was like a little kid playing with her new toy, snapping pictures of Christmas moments; the turkey being carved, our family assembled around the dinner table and the grand kids standing in front of our sparking Christmas tree. We laughed and laughed as the pictures slowly came into focus and we marvelled over the miracle of technology.
This Christmas mom will have been gone for nine years. After she passed away in 2012, my three sisters and I went through her belongings, selecting what we wanted to keep and what we decided to donate. I had learned over the years to detach from things, since losing so many loved ones had taught me that stuff just wasn’t important. But when we came to her Christmas boxes, that was another matter. Each ornament, each decoration, held special memories of our Christmases together. I was fairly ruthless, however, as we had a house full of eight children at the time, and I didn’t want to store mom’s memories in our dusty, crawl space.
The tossing was going good, until I spied a little, two inch ornament I had given mom one Christmas. I think I had taped it to one of her presents. It was a small, glossy white snow lady, with a red and green hat and a matching scarf around her neck. Painted on her face were bright eyes and an enormous smile that reminded me of mom when she opened her Christmas gifts. The little snow lady sat on top of a red jingle bell, that looked like an old fashion skirt. Etched into the skirt was the single word,
“MOM.”
I snatched up Snow Mom and tightly held her to my chest as I sobbed and sobbed.
Every winter since then, I’ve carried snow mom in my pocket. Some of her paint has scratched off and her orange nose broke a number of years ago. As my boots crunch along in newly fallen snow, there is a little jingle coming from my pocket.
Jingle, Jingle, “I love you!”
Jingle, Jingle, “I’m so proud of you.”
Jingle, Jingle, “You can do this Debbie.”
Jingle, Jingle, “All is well.”
Mom may be gone physically, but she never truly left me.
This has been a tough year for many of us and I don’t think anyone on this earth has escape some sort of loss, or grief. Even if you have escaped becoming sick yourself, or losing someone you love, you may be, like me, feeling drained and tired of social distancing, mask wearing and the relentless worry that an invisible, dark presence will knock at your door.
When I was pulling out our Christmas decorations the other day and found Snow Mom, it was like a big aha moment for me. She came to remind me that yes, in life there are difficult, challenging times, but it’s up to each of us to help others and try to lighten their load. In that giving of ourselves we find the magic in living. Being alive is a gift and giving of ourselves is the blessing we can spread around the world.
And if the worst thing happens in our lives; we lose someone we love, I hope this story reminds you that we never truly lose people we love. They remain in our hearts forever and we are never without them.
During this holiday season, I hope you listen carefully for the sweet jingle in your pocket. Let it be a reminder that you are never alone and you are always loved!
The End
Thanks so much for coming to visit today. Before you leave, the kids want to play you a few songs. First Will, Kathryn and Victoria will play “Tobin’s Favourite,” an old Irish Folk song and then the girls will play “Ashgrove,” which is an old Welsh Folk song. Then if you watch to the end, you will see Victoria hit the snowman, playing the piano, that my mom gave me for Christmas one year. This was a totally impromptu performance after the girl’s piece was over and I’m so glad I kept videotaping. My mom would have LOVED Victoria’s spontaneous dance, and appreciate that her little snowman is still being enjoyed by her youngest grandchildren. This one is for you mom!
Merry Christmas!
Blessings from Hope