Christmas Love

As I decorate our tree this Christmas season, I am, once again, immersed in the ritual of it. Each ornament carries its own memory, but none more so than the ones that have passed from my parent’s tree to mine. As I hang these small, fragile pieces of glass, my mind drifts back to the Christmases of my childhood…
I see my dad dragging a tree up the stairs to our home over the store.
I see the boxes of canned peas that he lugged up from the basement and stacked under the tree so it wouldn’t fall over. (After it had already fallen over, at least once.)
I see my mom in the kitchen, making fruitcake in the same coffee cans she’d use year after year.
I see my sisters and me in our flannel pyjamas, waiting impatiently for a hint of dawn, that slight lightening of our bedroom that signalled the start of the best day of the year.
I feel the magnetic pull of the Christmas tree down the hall.
I see presents spilling into the room. A big wooden toboggan. A tea set for the girls to share. My very own Chrissy doll.
I see my good green velvet dress that my mom made for me, and I feel the tights that keep slipping down my non-existent hips.
I smell incense in church, and feel the softness of my mom’s fur coat on my cheek as the never ending mass goes on.
I hear laughter as our uncles and aunts and cousins come to visit. I see Granny and Grandpa at the dinner table.
There is so much love in these memories of mine. So. Much. Love.
At this Christmas season, may we all see, feel, hear and touch love. May we remember the love of our past, and may we create new memories of love for others to cherish.
May we look past the distractions and human constructs, boil away the unnecessary, burn off the detritus, and come to the essence, which is, of course, love. It’s always love.
Merry Christmas, my friends.