And That's Just How She Was

I can still feel the texture of the doorbell as we stood huddled on her back stoop waiting for her to come to the door. She saw us coming from the kitchen window, but always waited for the ring of the bell. She peeked through the backdoor window with a big grin spreading from ear to ear at the sight of us awaiting her. She opened it up and we ran straight into her arms, then straight for the kitchen.

The delicious aromas of the holiday dinner wafted through the air. The dining room table was adorned with decorations, the good silverware, and the green goblets which we were allowed to use on this special occasion even though we weren't quite old enough. The food table was set with our holiday favorites—never ceasing to amaze me at how she would always remember what everyone loved. And there in the center of that table lay a giant vat of something I just couldn't get enough of--her homemade applesauce. Pink, slightly lumpy and sweet as it sat there waiting for the first scoop to be lifted out. I grinned at her as she told me that she had made it especially for me because she knew I loved it. And that's just how she was.

We sat and ate around the large dinner table conversing with our cousins. Girls sat at the big table while the boys stayed at the kitchen table...and it never failed that the girls always somehow ended out in the kitchen with the boys at some point in time.

Sitting on the kitchen table sat one decoration only--a ceramic terracotta colored Christmas tree which was lit from the inside by a tea light. Fascinating to all of us, this Christmas tree glowed of soft candlelight as we giggled at the heat which came through the holes. And just like clockwork, one of us lifted the tree to take a peak at the candle because who didn't like a little fire?



We eagerly waited for permission to go downstairs where the family room was filled with presents. Taking turns, we quietly snuck downstairs to the desert table which was overflowing with sweet treats like her gooey carmel-covered marshmallows, sweet peppermint bark and chocolate and peanut butter buckeyes.

Finally the time came and we raced down the stairs to the mountainous piles of gifts. Like putting on an old pair of shoes, we all took to our same spots. She sat joyfully in her orange chair as she watched Uncle Chuck & Aunt Shirlee sit on the couch and Patrick would take the chair right across from her. Dad sat in the other orange chair while Mom and Michael settled near the old t.v. and the Christmas tree. Bridget & I both sat with big grins as we pretended to warm ourselves by the fire as our spot was on the fireplace hearth right below the stockings she has so carefully made. The fireplace crackled and glowed as we all giggled as to how warm it had suddenly gotten as she flipped the switch. Andrew & Christine would sit on the floor just by the coffee table as the fun began.

I can still fill the shag rug beneath my feet and hear her laughter fill the air as we all opened gifts. I can see her painted nails and her arthritic fingers as they sometimes struggled to open each of her presents. And I see the light in her eyes as she watched the joy on our faces on this special day.

As I began to decorate our house this year for Christmas, I stumbled upon that ceramic Christmas tree that used to sit on the kitchen table in her house and I remembered. I remembered the day we cleaned out her house for the last time and I ran across this. I remembered the laughter that filled the air on those special Christmas days. I remembered the loved and joy that filled that house for so many years—the smells, the sights, the sounds. I remembered all of it just by looking at this tiny tree.

So I proudly display this little tree in my house as a symbol of all she was, and all that she made our Christmas days. Of the laughter and love we shared with her and the joy and ache in my heart as I miss her—these joyful Christmas days especially. And I remember how eternally grateful I am to have had her in my life for so many wonderful Christmas days.