Christmas is by far my favourite holiday. There is something about the warmth it brings to my heart during a cold winter. Growing up, our Christmases were filled with wrapped boxes, elaborate meals and the cacaphony of a big Italian family. My senses still ignite when I am lured back into my ghosts of Christmases past. I hear the baritone voice of my grandfather breaking out into Tu Scendi Dalle Stelle after dinner. He was a jolly man who sat at the head of the table and even though he was the gentlest of souls he commanded a great presence in an unobtrusive way. He loved his grandchildren unconditionally, to the point where he would sit and chuckle as we helped dress him up as Santa. My grandmother, who ruled her house sternly throughout the year, would let down her guard and enjoy the craziness and sit on Santa’s lap with a smile on her face.
For years, my brother and I were the only children at table and that meant the colourfully wrapped boxes under the tree belonged to us. Ask me what my favourite gifts were, I couldn't tell you but ask me about the feeling in the room, I can tell you in great detail. It was chaotic but filled with a sense of belonging. Christmas Eve was blanket that held us together close and warm. I felt safe watching my boisterous family moving from kitchen to living room. I remember seeing the smiling eyes of my aunt and uncles watching as my brother and I dove in and tore apart the exquisitely wrapped boxes. My grandparents and great grandparents would laugh at our expressions and received such satisfaction that they brought joy to their only two grandchildren at the time. But the joy wasn't from the gifts, it was from the sense of family that enveloped us. The adults always tried to organize the process of opening presents but year after year, failed miserably. Who would want to get in between a child and their Christmas present?
As my brother and I entered our teens, our family had expanded. Aunt and Uncle married and with those unions, Christmas was brought alive again by the sound of little voices and feet running through the house. The house was re-energized and new traditions were made. I loved watching the young ones run through the house the way my brother and I did. Four little people who enjoyed the boxes the gifts came in rather than the actual gift. We played board games and cards after dinner while the smell of chestnuts roasting filled our nostrils. At about the time the chestnuts were done, there would be a knock at the door and standing on the other side would be my grandmother's brother's family, who lived three houses down. Let the festivities begin!
The houses would take turns visiting and this was something I looked forward to every year. We saw each other daily throughout the year but the visit of Christmas Eve was one I waited for excitedly. One year they would show up singing carols and the next we would show up with a drum in hand bellowing a very horrible rendition of Little Drummer Boy. It was magical being surrounded by the people who meant most to me. These were the best Christmases of my youth. The two families were close and the memories made are etched in all our hearts. It is these memories we need to carry with us and hold dear.
With the birth of my children, Christmas evolved again. Two new faces, wide eyed and innocent, graced our lives. Gone were some of the old faces. My great grandparents no longer sat at the dinner table, my paternal grandmother watched from heaven above, my grandfather, my uncle and my aunt lived only within our minds and hearts now. The mood around the table changed. Those young cousins were now 20 somethings and our family a few doors down had moved. Instead of a warm, happy time, people sat angry, sad and disappointed that these bodies no longer sat at our table. My children would watch the elders and try to understand why the sadness. It is something that they couldn’t comprehend. For them, they believe these souls are still with us and want us to regale them with stories of years gone by and be happy.
This year is Christmas is bittersweet. The collective heartbeat pounds loudly but there is an over-lying sense of heartache. We are watching some relatives struggle with their health and facing a future that is nearing an end. My children are older now and understand more with a heavy sadness in their hearts. They know Christmas next year will be different with more souls watching from above. But for this year they want to be grateful for the gifts these family members have given them throughout their lives. They want to live in the moment and make sure when that moment passes it becomes permanently inked on their hearts. For them, the ghosts of the past are memories waiting to be created by the stories we share. The ghosts of tomorrow are already a part of who they are and for this they are forever grateful.
The collective heartbeat at Christmas time brings hope, clarity, wonderment and most importantly love. Despite the sadness that lingers in the air, I still crave to be part of this heartbeat and so do my children. Christmas is more than the delicious food, beautiful decorations and wonderful gifts. It is a feeling that lives within our hearts and memories and no one can take that away.
Happy Holidays and may love and happiness surround you and your families!