Christmas hasn’t always been a joyful occasion for me. Often it has been a painful reminder of happier days gone by, especially the times when my kids were small, and Christmas excitement pervaded our house.
It wasn’t until many years later that joy of the season returned. This is how it happened.
Boxes and boxes of everything Christmas had filled half my attic space for years: blown-glass ornaments, starched crocheted snowflakes and so many other colorful items. My collection of holiday bric-a-brac was a joy to my family when my children were small, when I was married to their father.
But now, the boxes of colorful clutter were a sad reminder of Christmas enchantment many years ago — and my hope that the magic would return someday.
Where we live now, it hardly ever snows before Christmas. Where I grew up, in northern Illinois, there would always be glistening snow to herald the Christmas spirit.
My children are grown now. They have moved away and are busy with their own lives. And so, the boxes remained, untouched, hibernating year after year, up until I finally remarried again, to a wonderful man named John.
Our first year together, John helped me carry the boxes downstairs. I was determined to sort them out, even though many tears might be shed. Inside the first box was the set of electric candles that illuminated all the upstairs windows of my old house. They were wrapped in the colorful apron I used to wear to make the maple-nut sticky buns for Christmas morning. Another box contained yards of green garlands and great lengths of colored lights. There were five hand-knit stockings in red and green yarn, trimmed with gold cord that had once hung on the old fireplace mantle. They had bulged with candies and small toys for the kids on Christmas morning. There was a Christmas carousel, a monkey band that played Christmas songs. I found a small package wrapped in white tissue paper, and faint notes of “The Skater’s Waltz” played as I unwrapped it. Next to it was the tiny ballerina that skated around on the mirror-topped music box as it played.
Tears streamed down my face as I rewrapped it and tucked it away. I prayed for help to change my outlook, to find some kind of renewed joy in this season.
John insisted on getting a real Christmas tree. I argued that it seemed unnecessary because there would be no family visiting us. But true to his word, the next day, he proudly carried a small fresh tree in the front door, surrounded by pine fragrance. The sweet scent prompted me to put on Christmas music. Together, we wrapped strings of colorful lights around the tree. The reflection of the lights on his face made him appear cheerfully childlike.
The next morning, I got busy. I unpacked the rest of the Christmas boxes and began to sort.
The items my daughters would remember and enjoy, like red Santa stockings, ceramic candy houses and snow globes, went into boxes to be sent off to their houses. For my son I packed up the mechanical monkey band, a dancing snowman, reindeer stockings and other gems I knew would bring him joy.
A few cherished ornaments, I kept to put on our little tree. Only those things that brought heartfelt, happy recollections were kept. The remaining items, I packed in a large box to donate.
It was surprisingly exhilarating to lift the boxes addressed to my son and daughters onto the post office counter and bid them goodbye. When I returned home, even the house felt different. It felt clean, relieved of burdens.
When John arrived home from work, he said it was good seeing the Christmas clutter gone. I felt a sensation of loving warmth between us, a feeling reserved for people recovering from difficult times. And then, as further answer to my prayers, I noticed the snowflakes falling outside the dining room window.
The following year, one sunny day in December, it was again time to get the Christmas boxes down from the attic. But now I had a new helper, my 4-year-old grandson. To him, everything in those boxes was new and amazing. He was wide-eyed as he watched me lift a large snow globe out of a box and wind the key. His face beamed as it merrily played, “We wish you a Merry Christmas.”
Lastly, I brought out a small package wrapped in white tissue paper — the mirror skating pond and the dancing ballerina. He watched transfixed as the tiny ballerina twirled to the musical strains of “The Skater’s Waltz.”
At that very moment, the magic of Christmas returned to me through my grandson’s eyes.
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