Christmas can be the most deliriously joyful time, as well as the saddest, for it accentuates the void of loved ones no longer with us. I have found Christmas bliss, or rather it has found me, through faith and the flexibility to appreciate the miracles of Christmas present, while treasuring the magic of Christmases past.
Oh, how I relish my early yuletide memories.
They began in my native Whitesburg -- a mystical land, equal parts Mayberry, Sherwood Forest and Oz -- nestled in Eastern Kentucky's majestic mountains, so green in the summer, in winter a wonderland of white.Our house was on Hays Street, at the foot of a mountain, just one street over from Main, which was now decked out in all the nostalgic charm of a Norman Rockwell Christmas portrait, complete with old Coca-Cola script "Season's Greetings" signs and plastic Santa sentries in front of all the stores.
We gathered 'round the piano and sang as my wonderful mother, Genevieve, played. "Frosty the snowman was a jol-ly hap-py soul, with a corncob pipe and a but-ton nose and two eyes made out of coal." We laughed with glee, little brother Willie, sister Mimi, Mom and me. And while it didn't make too much sense, I tried to envision a "one-horse soapen sleigh." (It was years before I learned that it was "one-horse open sleigh.")
Come Christmas Eve, we kids had visions of toys and trains and goodies galore. We'd get up and tiptoe down to the basement to see if Santa came. Dark, no Santa. A little later, we'd sneak down again. Dark, no Santa. Finally we willed ourselves to sleep, but woke early and in unison darted down the stairs to, glory be, a fully lit tree with colorful gifts for our whole family.
There was never a tree as true or pure as that fresh-cut spruce. Today try as it might, even a billion-dollar industry can't package the power of yesterday's pine.We lost little Willie the next year, and all I can recall are the tears that eventually gave way to a serene sort of peace on Mom's beautiful, but forlorn, face.
Dad moved us to Lexington, and despite the pain Christmas managed to find us where we were. Each year had a new tradition, like the day Mom brought home the new Andy Williams Christmas album, undoubtedly the greatest of all time. Thanks, Mom, I love you and miss you so.
With both parents and two brothers now at rest, our traditions must of necessity change. Yet still does Christmas find us where we are, comforting us, giving us meaning and purpose in this life, and the hope of a heavenly reunion in the next.
And like the tree from my first memory, that stays ever green through autumn and spring, does this truth from Christmas fill our being: Peace on Earth, Good Will to All.
Richard F. Dawahare 12.22.07
