All I Want for Christmas

It costs nothing

I was raised in a world of idyllic Christmases.

Not that we got everything we wanted and tons of expensive gifts, but that never was the expectation. We knew Santa was on a budget, especially since five kids lived in our house. We were used to that. Sometimes one of us got a bit more, and sometimes the other, but usually, the bounty was pretty equal.

But we were excited regardless. Christmas Eve, we were encouraged to bed early. Santa wouldn’t come if children were awake and it was best to be at the first of the route.

Typically we’d wake up about 4 a.m. My parents issued the edict that we could not enter the living room, home of the Christmas tree, and where Santa dropped the presents, until 6 a.m. We’d huddle in one of our bedrooms, speculating as to what we would get.

Catching Santa in the act would mean he would take everything away. No, we never considered that would be a terrible act for this jolly man that loved children. It had to be true.

My brother Scott peeked once. He came running back.

“He’s in there, but he didn’t see me.”

We all sweated a bit until we were allowed to see that he, indeed, had not been caught and our presents were all awaiting us

Mom was usually the one who got up with us. (Dad would follow as he heard presents opening, camera in hand.)

At 6 a.m. she would roll out of bed, probably amused at the sight of her five kids hovering in the hallway, and tell us to stay right there while she checked and made sure that Santa had come.

She really was just going to turn the Christmas lights on the tree, making it just a bit more magical.

I was oblivious to some of her personal touches until I was older. Every present from Santa was wrapped in Santa paper. Usually a different paper for each child. A few gifts in different, non-Santa paper were from Mom and Dad.

They all had labels on them with our names, telling us they were from Santa. We never noticed Santa’s handwriting was amazingly like Mom’s. Mom had unusual handwriting (learned as a child in Wales, where she said teachers would hit their hands with rulers if they got it wrong.)

I did notice some of my friends got lots more gifts and more expensive ones. Mom said this was because Santa knew what each kid needed. She said he knew our family had each other and that was a really good gift. As we got older she said parents had to pay Santa back, so it was based on their budget. She was a fountain of ideas.

I believe I rolled my eyes at her a bit, but underneath I bought it all, hook, line, and sinker. I still do.

Now that we are all grown up things have changed a bit. We lost my Dad exactly five years ago (on December 18th.)

This year we put my mom in a memory care unit for Alzheimer’s. It had escalated incredibly starting in 2020. She is a shell of her former self, forgetting much and living in her own world.

Still, she remembers the name of each of her children. Usually. It’s probably even better than those flustered days of calling out four other names before she got to the problem child of the moment.

I appreciate each time I visit and she announces to all around, “This is my daughter Kimberley.”

Who would have ever thought that would be seen as such a gift?

Gifts aren’t important to me and my siblings. We quit giving them to each other around our twenties. We had swapped names and often got gifts that were disappointing. My sisters and I admittedly fixed things a few years so we would get each other. Then we decided we should just suspend that shopping task and buy ourselves a gift if we wanted.

OK, truth be told that last part was what I did for myself. My siblings still had spouses that bought them gifts. Usually one or two would slip me a gift, even though they didn’t buy for the others. Sometimes it’s good to be the single one.

Nowadays my nieces and nephews are grown, and several have children. We keep the magic going for kids in our family. Gifts have never been overly expensive, but when you get them from four aunts and uncles, or now great aunts and uncles, presents are everywhere. Watching them open them would bring a smile to the sourest of faces.

I often let some of the older ones pick their own gift these days. If I see them before Christmas, I pull up Amazon and give them my phone. I give them a budget (usually $25) and they pick what they want. It is delivered to their house in their name. They love it. This year they got their gifts early, as we did it Thanksgiving. Last year it was February. Aunt Kim is never predictable.

My mom has little enjoyment in her life these days. She is not depressed to the extent that she was in the years following my dad’s death, but instead, she is hollow. It’s a rare occasion when you know she is experiencing joy. Alzheimer’s has stolen much of her life. It’s a cruel companion.

All I want for Christmas is joy on my mom’s face. A moment or two of actually being in the moment, cognizant of what is happening around her. I want her to feel joy, peace, and incredibly loved.

I wish the same for you.

Joy to the world.

Peace on earth.

Love one another until you get it right.

Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays. Embrace each day.

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