Two years ago, we spent Christmas with the kids and grandkids in the Bahamas. It was as stressful as it was fun. We (mostly me) made travel, hotel and meal arrangements. I shopped for lightweight gifts to bring along. I brought Christmas lights, homemade cookies and even a nativity set to keep the “reason for the season.”
We usually “do Christmas” with our kids every other year to accommodate celebrations with other family members. So, my husband and I expected to be spending last Christmas alone.
But as the holiday grew closer, we realized our daughter Rachael, who lives in Texas, was going to be spending Christmas by herself. (Her kids would be with their dad.) We gave her the choice of joining us in our snowbird home in Arizona or coming home to North Dakota, where her dad was busy pheasant hunting and loudly championing that choice. Rachael said as long as we could guarantee there wouldn’t be a blizzard, she would come to North Dakota.
My husband and I have spent several Christmases by ourselves, when I downsize my decorating considerably. When all the kids are coming home, we pull out our “big” tree. It’s over 6 feet tall, and I’m not exaggerating when I say I have over 300 ornaments to hang on the branches. It’s a lot of work, and I don’t do it for just the two of us.
But there was a dilemma. If I don’t pull out the big tree for two people, do I put it up for three? Our adult daughter would understand the minimal décor.
I debated, but I just had to put up the big tree and all those favorite ornaments. Even though our daughter is now 50 years old, she’s still our “kid.” I was once told by our other daughter, “The magic of Christmas is Mom.” It was up to me to make it magical, no matter her age.
My husband helped pull out the boxes, I put on some Christmas music and got busy. I started with the shiny “filler” balls, then started layering in the souvenir ornaments collected on our travels and gifts from friends. There were ornaments made by my daughters in elementary school. Fragile ornaments made from wrapping paper and glitter. And, always hung in the same spot, a pair of brass ballerina shoes, a memory from the year Rachael wanted to be a ballerina.
The more I decorated, the more excited I was for Rachael to arrive. She flew in late on Dec. 21, and I made sure the tree was twinkling and the fireplace was ready to light.
Rachael grinned when she saw all that was familiar. The first thing she did was check out the ornaments on the tree. Yes, the ballerina shoes were where they belonged.
The three of us settled by the fireplace. As much as we love our grandchildren, we often spend so much of our focus on them we don’t get to talk much with our adult daughters. This year would be different. It was going to be a grand, quiet Christmas.
And then I got sick.
At first, I denied I was coming down with my annual “crud.” We ran errands. Visited friends. Took a crisp walk in the snow. I forced a smile on my face. By Christmas Eve, I powered through the church service. Watching my daughter’s face by candlelight was worth it.
Christmas morning dawned and there was no denying it. Mom was not going to create any more Christmas magic. I kept apologizing. “I’m so sorry. This isn’t how I planned Christmas.”
Rachael, curled up on the couch reading by the fire, told me not to worry. Rest.
The next day, her dad drove her to the airport, while I went to the clinic for my annual dose of antibiotics. I started feeling better about the same time her thank you note arrived in the mail.
“Mom and Dad: Being the only kid at home was so special. Unrushed, and uninterrupted, conversations. Thank you for spoiling me with my favorite foods, running around town and peaceful fires. What a magical Christmas we had together!”
It turned out all the magic didn’t need to come from Mom. Sometimes, magic is the place you call home.
___
Roxanne (Roxy) Henke will be putting up the BIG tree this year. All the kids are coming home. You can reach Roxy at roxannehenke@gmail.com.
