O Christmas Eve

            Today’s the day — Christmas Eve. For me, Christmas Eve has always been a much bigger deal than Christmas Day. I’m sure it goes back to my obsession with anticipation, but I also think my fondness for the day before Christmas can be linked to my parents.

            Growing up, Christmas Eve took on various configurations, but you could always count on opening presents. That’s right, my parents and I opened our presents on Christmas Eve night after church. We’d sit in the living room in our assigned seats — mom on the couch, me on the love seat and dad in the comfy chair. I’d play Santa, with or without a hat, and hand out gifts. We went in a circle, opening one present at a time so we could admire whatever treasure we’d just received. 

            At the end of the gift giving, dad would walk to the tree and pull out envelopes of Christmas money for my mother and I. Mom and I would immediately begin plotting where we were going to go shopping. 

            I’ve thought about those Christmas Eves a lot this week as I near the first Christmas without my mom. What I would do to go back to one of those Christmas Eve nights for a few minutes, just to see my mom’s smile and hear her laugh. You know those times are special when you experience them, but you don’t know how special and you certainly don’t realize how one day you’ll play them over and over in your head. 

            One of the Christmas Eves I think about the most took place in the late 1990s. Mom was cooking some kind of meat in the oven when the power went out. We eventually left for church knowing that we would have to figure out alternate dinner plans. After the service, we ventured to town to find a restaurant. Nothing was open except the Waffle House just off of the interstate, so we, clad in our Christmas church attire, proceeded to have our Christmas Eve dinner there. 

            The three of us sat in a cozy booth eating greasy breakfast entrees for dinner, and it turned out to be one of our best Christmas Eves ever, simply because of the story value (mom loved a good story). 

             So as my dad and I, as well as my husband, tried to figure out what to do for our first Christmas Eve without mom, the answer became clear. We’re going to church together, and then we’re going to the Waffle House. Mom would love it, and I have a feeling that her presence will be felt there more than ever as we order pancakes, eggs and sausage for dinner.

            You never know what pieces of life you’ll cling to, but it’s so nice to have a large inventory from which to choose. As I mourn my mom and try to comfort my dad this Christmas, I’m grateful for all of the beautiful Christmases they gave me. I don’t remember the gifts so much as I remember the time they took to be with me and share the spirit of the season with me. Now it’s my turn to do the same for my children — Waffle House and all. 

            Merry Christmas!