Keeping the things we cannot replace.
My mother loved Christmas. I know a lot of moms love Christmas and so maybe my mom was just like the rest. She always made the Christmas season The Best Ever. It would start the day after Thanksgiving, every year. My mom was never one for Black Friday shopping, because she spent the entire day “putting up Christmas”. This yearly ritual would take her 6-8 hours to do.
It was the same every year; the majority of Christmas decor was stored under the stairs in the basement, within the laundry room. My mom would move the ironing board to the side inside our tiny laundry room, twist up the bent nail that served to hold the paneling “wall” in place on the studs that framed the stairs. She’d pull out the bags of Santa Bears and Christmas stuffed animals, the box of pointy plastic holly, boxes of Christmas ornaments, the tree, several painted wooden snowmen, another tree, the leather strap with jingle bells attached, and it would all come out and be set in the family room…waiting to take their places of honor in the house.
My mom was far from wouldn’t done though! Upstairs, in old steamer trunks that serve as end tables, more Christmas decor was carefully tucked away for the majority of the year. One trunk would be opened and out would come all of the snowglobes and wind-up Christmas music boxes. They would almost always take their place on top of the piano, in the living room. Year after year, my mom received different kinds of music boxes and musical snowglobes. My favorite ones were one where a little bear would “skate” on a pond (moved around by a hidden magnet) and another where Santa and his reindeer circled a neighborhood in the air in his sleigh. I’d often spend time winding up all of them and have them all chaotically play music at the same time.
Back into the trunks, my mom would pull out a wooden creche for the manger scene, along with fiberglass snow we were not ever supposed to touch, and ceramic nativity characters. Out would come Christmas-themed kids books, a set of decoration-only nutcrackers, and an actual nutcracking set made from a slice of a tree. This set had a little spot in the middle where the nutcracker tools were housed and you’d fill the bowl part with Christmas nuts bought in bulk from the grocery store.
(A nut cracker & nut-opening tools, in the middle of a bowl made from a tree stump.)
There was more still, to be pulled from the trunks! Handmade felt stockings, given to each new member of the family that married in or new babies in the family. These are a family tradition, going on for who knows how long. The white stocking with red stitching, and a red top, boasts its owner's name in white block letters. Santa is displayed on the front and every single sequin on the green felt Christmas tree was sewn by hand. Every new baby in the family gets one and their picture is taken with them with their lower half tucked inside.
(An over-sized felt Christmas stocking)
Even more decor is pulled from the trunks! A wall hanging that says A Beary Merry Christmas, counting down the days until Christmas eve with a small stuffed bear that you move every day is hung in the front hall. It too has hand-sewn sequins and beads emblazoned from top to bottom, sewn on meticulously by my Great Grandmother years ago. (This hanging is now at my house and my kids love to move the bear around, just like I did as a child.)
(A Christmas Countdown wall hanging)
From the trunks come thick glass tea light holders, a ceramic moose wearing a Santa hat, ceramic geese wearing red ribbon bows around their necks, a quilted bucket used to collect the Christmas cards that roll in every year, red velvet ribbon with my mom’s family Christmas photos from her childhood stapled on top, plastic mistletoe placed in the doorway at the kitchen, “All Hearts Come Home for Christmas” is written on a tiny wooden pine tree and each of my family member has a heart with their name on it, hanging on the tree by a teeny little nail.
The banister in the hall would be wrapped in fake plastic holly, the stockings hung precariously by heavy plastic bears holding upside down candy canes from a ledge opposite the banister. The leather jingle bell strap would hang from the very end of the banister, jingling every time someone closed the front door. The Christmas tree would go up every year, on top of a round coffee table so there was enough room for all of the gifts…and to give it more height than it actually had.
Due to several of her children sneaking peeks at presents over the years, my mom devised different systems to deter us from opening any presents early. For a few years, each gift was labeled with a number and she would have a notebook with the key to who’s number belonged to which kid. Later on, she simply wrapped each kid’s gifts in notably different paper and only she knew what paper represented which kid. I myself have had to implement my own system…though my method is just to hide the gifts away until Christmas eve.
The buffet in the dining area would hold the nativity set, the trunks-turned-end-tables held the photo book of our family holiday photos from the years past, the quilted Christmas bucket with friends and family’s cards, the ceramic line of geese, and a wooden sled with tiny pretend presents made by my mom from old Christmas cards.
The tree, up on its round pedestal table with a handmade tree skirt, was adorned with decades worth of Christmas ornaments my mom had carefully collected. None of them have any monetary value, but they’ve been steeped with memories of all of the Christmases gone by. They’ve witnessed each of my parents' 4 children opening presents on Christmas morning; my mom wearing her warmest winter robe and holding a cup of coffee, my dad wearing pajamas and his old green cardigan with the patches on the elbows and its enormous wooden buttons. Those ornaments watched my brothers and I grow up, opening toys and clothing as children…then later CD’s and gift cards as teenagers…and then adult gifts like cookware sets and a heavy-duty bike rack for a car.
My mom has been gone for nearly 5 years. In July of 2017 she got cancer for the second and final time. Christmas of 2017 was much slower than year’s past. My mom’s health had deteriorated in the months since the initial gallbladder diagnosis; her hair got thinner and started falling out, she lost a significant amount of weight and felt fragile when you hugged her. She had no appetite and spent most days napping on the couch. Christmas of 2017 was hosted at my parent’s house, with my mom somehow mustering the energy she didn’t have to bake and prepare for her family to come celebrate. She smiled meaningfully, but weakly, at her siblings and my grandparents, cousins, and grandchildren all gathered one last time for her. Others took over the duties she usually took care of without complaint; as she sunk into the couch to observe and soak in the warmth of the holiday gathering. My mom would pass as we expected, but still too soon and too suddenly, on February 14th of 2018. You are never ready to lose your mom.
One day soon, my siblings and I will gather at my parents house. We will pull out all of the old Christmas decor and sort through. Out will come the stuffed bears, the plastic holly, the nutcrackers, the music boxes, the jingle bells, the Christmas books, the nativity set, the ceramic moose and the Christmas photos.
My dad can decide what makes sense for him to keep to “put up Christmas” each year. One of my brothers will probably take a few decorative nutcrackers home. I know which music box I’ll bring back to my house. The rest will be auctioned off to other family members with fond memories of my mom’s unending love for Christmas. Anything that was just purchased for the sake of Christmas and whimsy…we’ll donate before Christmas comes again.
My family could keep nothing that’s left of my Mom’s Christmas. The trunks could be empty and the space under the stairs could hold only dust and spiderwebs. We could box up every last piece of paraphernalia that my mom collected for her Christmastime display. My childhood home could echo hauntingly in December, void of plastic holly and over-sized felt stockings. The nights could be empty of a softly lit tree, one that I used to love looking at when it was snowing and the world was softened and quiet.
We could do that.
We won’t. We’ll keep a few precious items each. Mementos of our childhood Christmases, made special by a woman we’ll never not miss. You cannot replace people once they leave you. Not even their winter robe, still perfumed with their unique smell, can be a good stand-in for the person it once held.
But we can keep a few things that are infused with those memories. We can look at that music box and remember the way she smiled on Christmas morning. Or the way she curled up on the couch with her cup of coffee, wrapped in a robe and watching Christmas magic unfold before her. We can keep the things we cannot replace, as a memory of the person we miss all the time. Especially at Christmas.
