Christmas Memories

I was watching one of the old movies that was the standard go-to for Christmas and found myself misty-eyed at the end.  The saccharine sentimentality got to me and I asked myself, "What is it about this time of year that makes me so emotional? "  As I thought about it, I realized that all of the best recollections from childhood were centered around Christmas.  It was the time of year when both of my parents stopped working hard and took time with us.  We  (my brother and I)  were more important than work, or cooking, or cleaning, appointments, and meetings.  We were the center of their attention.  We were the excitement, the playfulness, the love, the joy wrapped up in their arms and their hearts.  It was reassuring, reaffirming, and re-energizing in a family that was always busy, always going, always striving to achieve. But at Christmas, it wasn't about the classroom grades, the awards, the accomplishments;  it was about the core values of love, of togetherness, of being a family...a caring and sharing nucleus. 

Christmas memories evoked visions of baked cookies and sweet treats, colorful packages wrapped in curled ribbons, and the all-important tinsel-covered tree that stood proudly in the center window of our living room.  My mother was a frugal woman who could stretch a dollar in ways I couldn't even comprehend.  As a child of the Great Depression, she learned the value of economizing and living conservatively.  She couldn't and wouldn't overindulge nor buy us too many presents.  My brother and I knew that there would be a homemade garment under the tree (sometimes pajamas, a shirt for him, or a skirt for me).  We knew that there would be socks, or underwear.  We also knew that there would be one toy for each of us.  We didn't know which package held that surprise but among the socks and underwear, there was one special gift.  For me, the best of these was the year I received my Betsy McCall doll in a red corduroy coat.  How my mother must have saved and stretched her grocery money to afford this was something I didn't appreciate at the time.  All I knew was that I wanted that doll from the moment I saw her on the pages of McCall's magazine.  My mother kept telling me that the doll was too expensive and not to get my hopes up, but on Christmas morning I still felt the excitement and hope that Betsy was sitting under the tree in one of the green and red wrapped boxes.  My father and mother took their places on the sofa facing the tree while my brother and I sat on the floor reading the labels on the packages.  I don't remember anything else about that year.  I couldn't tell you what other gifts I received.  I must have opened everything else first at the direction of both of my parents.  "No, no," they'd call.  "Open that one next." Coaxing us they would point and direct us to the less popular gifts before the 'main' gift was opened...the piece de resistance...the Big One...the special gift that they had debated, saved, and budgeted for.  Looking back now I realize what sacrifices they made for us.  I wonder now, if we showed them the appreciation and the gratitude they deserved.  It is more likely that we whined about wanting something that we didn't get, not fully understanding the financial situation and circumstances.

Today, I think about those days...the simplicity of the festivities of years past is a sharp contrast to the sumptuous celebrations of more affluent times and circumstances and yet they still pull at my heartstrings perhaps even more than those days of elaborate gift-giving and merriment.  

I look at my mother who sits quietly watching the Christmas specials; who might sing along with the assorted carols, and who exclaims how beautiful the Holiday decorations are.  I know that her memories are diminished by the years as well as her dementia.  I know that she has forgotten the excitement, the anticipation of the holiday, the cooking, the parties, and the frenzy that every mother faced when trying to do it all before the special day arrived.  In fact, she isn't sure what time of year it is, what holiday we are celebrating, where she is, or who we are.  Maybe that's  why I have been so sentimental lately...shedding tears at the drop of a hat.  Maybe the fact that I feel like the keeper of the family memories -- the custodian of our history,  places the emotional burden on me that pushes me over the edge.  I am, after all, the last one who remains cogent.  My father  (who had Alzheimer's) is long departed, my brother is suffering from Alzheimer's and of course Mom.   The other day, while wrapping presents, I took out the recorder and began questioning Mom.  

 "Do you remember when we were young and you used to wrap presents for us?" I asked.  

"No," she answered. I reminded her of the Christmases past but it was like I was telling her a story about someone else.  Something I said sparked a memory though.  She began to tell  me about her childhood and how important she felt being given the responsibility of wrapping the family gifts.  She was very young at the time and I am sure that she didn't remember it too accurately, but at least she could speak about the holidays.  She remembered her mother cooking at the stove, and the sights and smells of the holiday dinner. She began smiling broadly and feeling those feelings she had experienced over 90 years ago. It occurred to me that she, too, was the custodian of the memories; for she was the last one in her nuclear family still alive.  Maybe it was that responsibility that forced her to remember even if the memories were minimal.  I was grateful to have the recorder going as she spoke.  Perhaps years from now, we will listen to her recorded voice and feel her nostalgia, enjoy her words, and remember through her eyes the childlike wonder of the holidays.  In her family, there weren't many gifts;  but the small coloring books, the crayons, the little porcelain doll, and the hand sewn aprons were enough to bring joy and lasting memories even in the haze of late stages of Alzheimer's.  Holiday recollections are strong, enduring, and important to all of us regardless of the lavishness or the simplicity of the celebration.  It is the anticipation, the excitement and most of all the togetherness and love that imprints and survives through the years.  That thought makes me smile.  Beyond the emotional sentimentality, there is a deep and joyous gratitude, a legacy of loving families that remains in all of our hearts.  Even if and when memories fade, we still respond with sentimental smiles and happy tears.