The Christmas We Never Forgot

Author Unknown

It seemed like any other Christmas from the beginning. Our parents had notified us a few weeks earlier that they would not be home for Christmas as they would be traveling through Europe for business (and vacation). The news didn’t come as a surprise since we hadn’t been together for the holiday since I was 5. Now ten years later when asked who we wanted to have come stay with us, since the nanny was going home to her own family, we all wanted Gram. She was my mother’s mother and she had a way of getting us kids together, when at any other time we would have been at each other’s throats.

 

She arrived a few days before Christmas and I remember her slow, even steps up the few steps and through the door. Her attire was rather plain in comparison to our spacious house but for some reason it felt like home. I could see her disapproval as she walked by the mountain of presents waiting beneath the large tree, many put there the day before in hopes of buying our love in their absence.

 

The next day was Saturday, a brisk day that made it hard to get out of bed. Gram came in and woke me up, and after peeking one eye open, I saw that it was only 7:00 a.m. “Where are we going?” I grumbled, rubbing my eyes to focus.

 

“It’s a surprise,” she said, the corners of her mouth trying to hide a smile. “We have to leave in about 15 minutes so get a move on.” I reluctantly complied and we made it out the door and in Gram’s car.

 

After about 15 minutes, we had entered into a part of the city that I had never been in before. The houses were small and looked rundown. I looked at Gram for an answer to my unspoken question, but she was staring straight ahead, humming a Christmas tune.

 

We pulled into a parking spot in front of an old warehouse with no name. Gram got out and waved us to follow. The three of us slumped behind her, the dirt and bugs more than we were used to. We walked in through the door and my eyes had to adjust to the dim light.

 

We were given aprons, hairnets and gloves and the pushed into a room down the hall by a small man that didn’t know English, or if he did, he didn’t let on. As I looked around the room, I saw tables and chairs in every corner and the longer tables held large silver trays. Gram positioned us and herself behind the tables and within a few minutes, a stream of people walked in, their plates out and their smiles grateful. We served pancakes and breakfast meats and biscuits for over an hour and a half and by the end, I was fully awake and humbled just a little bit. The people were in circumstances far below my own, but they still needed the everyday items, and it was fun to help out for the morning.

 

The next day, Gram announced we were taking another field trip and although I had some good memories from the adventure the day before, I was still not excited.

This time we went to a hospital, not my first choice of places to visit two days before Christmas. Gram got out of the car and opened the trunk, which was full of medium sized boxes and a few bags. We struggled with all of it up the stairs and into the building. The elevator took us up to the third floor and I could tell that this was a different floor than most I had been on before. The walls had color and there were various drawings in frames along the wall.

Gram led us to the first room where we found a little girl lying in the bed, her head shaved and her face pale. Gram opened one of the boxes and pulled out a homemade doll that I recognized from one she had made for me quite a few years ago. It wasn’t perfect but from the eyes of the little girl you would have thought that she had received a bike.

 

We went from room to room, finding similar situations of children, the boys getting monkeys and the girls the dolls. Each one was elated at the small gift as well as the company. Some were excited to share their latest stories and others liked listening to the ones we shared. Walking out of the hospital there was a small change in all of us, as if this visit helped us more than the children.

 

I figured that Gram was probably done with our outings, but I was surprised when, early on Christmas Eve, she rounded us up once again. We drove to the store and each with a list of items we needed to get, we set out with our own carts to find the items. There were puzzles and dolls, trains and cars, clothes and hygiene supplies. Gram came back with an overflowing cart of food, and we were left wondering what was going to happen. Maybe a party?

 

At home we spent three hours wrapping all of the gifts and with everything loaded back up in Gram’s car, we set out once again. We pulled up to a modest home in a suburb and stopped, the sky dark.

 

“The boxes with #1 go to this home. Drop them on the doorstep, ring the doorbell and run!” The twinkle in Gram’s eyes made us feel like little kids ourselves and we couldn’t wait to take the boxes. We waited in a hedge off to the side of the house and waited. A woman stepped out and upon opening the box, she began to weep, sinking to her knees. A man came out behind her and seeing the gifts and his wife, pulled her up and hugged her.

 

“An angel has helped the kids have a Christmas,” I heard the woman mumble as they took the things inside. It took a minute before I realized that there were tears streaming down my face. There were similar scenes at the other houses, and I couldn’t help but feel grateful for everything we had.

 

The feeling persisted as we woke up the next morning. Instead of the race to open the presents to see what we had received, the three of us sat on the couch and admired the beauty of the tree, the lights twinkling against the ornaments. It seemed that the presents that we needed the most were the ones we received when we were serving others. I saw Gram around the corner, and she smiled bigger than I had seen in years.

 

Gram died just a few weeks later but her gift to us is something that we’ve carried throughout the years. It is something that has helped change our families and brought us closer together as siblings. Her gift was unconditional and everlasting.