The Last Gift of Christmas

The Last Gift of Christmas

We started today, taking down the Christmas tree-two days shy of the Epiphany- it just seemed like the right time. I know some folks like to leave their trees up for weeks or even months while others have theirs out on the street by Boxing Day. I figure it is a very personal decision and I try not to judge. For me, the day we take down the Christmas tree has got to be one of the saddest days of the year- always holding on to the hope that we will all be together the following year and that the year ahead will be good and kind to each of us. This day of taking down the tree reminds me of the final gift of Christmas-a gift from my mother to me……

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I remember the morning after Christmas – running out to the Christmas tree hoping that Santa had forgotten to leave something the night before and mysteriously returned with one last gift. There was always a sadness that lingered there – no cookies and milk, no reindeer hoofs, the magic had been swept up the chimney.  The joy and anticipation suddenly quieted – stockings empty, presents scattered, colored lights singing their swan song. The next Christmas seemed to loom so far in the distance. It was hard to imagine all of the days and months that lie ahead waiting for next Christmas to unfold.

As snowy days filled our time between Christmas and New Year, we found ourselves outdoors sledding and building snowmen and snow-forts, skating on ponds in the woods, creating snow angels. My red rubber boots filling to the brim with snow. After sanding the rusty runners of our Flexible-Flyers with some steel wool we lined them up along the side of the house with hopes of a trip to Pierson Hill. The wonder of the season and winter respite filled in some of the post-holiday emptiness.

Soon it would be time to return to school. My feet were heavy leaving behind a home full of Christmas warmth and memories. The tree, a silhouette against the picture window, Santa and his reindeer on the mantle, the creche atop the China cabinet. As kids, this is the way we marked time- from holiday to holiday-school vacation to school vacation- from boots to sneakers to flip-flops to bare-feet.

School resumed with little regalia, reacquainting with old friends, taking the weekly spelling pretest, writing about what we did over Christmas vacation (back then very few wrote about skiing in Lake Tahoe or snorkeling in St. Barts). After the bumpy bus ride, I ran down the driveway to home; the best word of all. And just like magic, while I was at school -Christmas had disappeared -no tree, or Santa, or creche, no stockings, or lights-everything was gone-neatly tucked away in the attic until next year. Our house was clean and clear and bright and ready for the next holiday to arrive.  I didn’t have to endure the hardest part - the sadness of putting Christmas away, it disappeared just like that, like magic, and that indeed was a gift from my mother’s heart to mine- it was the ‘last gift of Christmas.’