Making Christmas Christmas

by Becca

 

Christmas is the happiest time of year… well it was before Grandma died.

 

It's been a long two weeks.   Twenty days, to be exact, since she passed away.

 

I don't know if my family has been swept up in all the holiday cheer and forgotten their pain or if they're just really good at hiding it.

 

Whatever their reasons were, by Christmas their cheerful moods were getting on my nerves.

 

After lunch, I slipped out of the kitchen and went up to my room.

 

On my bed laid the beautiful red sweater that Grandma had given to me.  She was known for doing her Christmas shopping throughout the year, and most years, like this one, she had everyone's presents wrapped and tucked away in her closet before Thanksgiving.

 

I pulled the red sweater over my head and after grabbing my fleece blanket, I settled on my window seat, watching my siblings and cousins play in the snow.

 

Though the world said today was Christmas, I knew in my heart that it wasn't.

 

If it were Christmas, I'd be in the kitchen helping Grandma put food away and do the dishes.  Then she would insist that I go out and convince my siblings and cousins to help me make a snowman and if there was no snow, Grandma would take us out for a relaxing stroll through the neighborhood to see all the colorful lights.

 

So, today, with everybody at my parents' house and no snowman being built was not Christmas.

 

I pulled my knees to my chest and looked at the baron houses up and down our street.  Not a single neighbor had put lights on their house.  Even my dad, who always put lights up for the holidays, didn't this year.

 

"Jess?"  I heard somebody call from the hall.

 

When I didn't reply, the person said, "I know you're in there."

 

Recognizing my oldest brother's voice, I didn't bother to reply because I knew he would come in anyway.

 

The door creaked open and my brother stepped into the room.  "Hey," he greeted.

 

"Hi."

 

He crossed the room and pulled the chair away from my desk and put it next to the window seat.  "What's up, you seem down."

 

"Uh, my grandma just died, of course I'm down," I wanted to say.  Instead, I shrugged my shoulders and looked at the sleeve of my sweater.

 

We sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the shrill voices of the kids outside.

 

"She wouldn't want to see you like this, Jess," he finally said.  "It would break her heart."

 

"It doesn't feel like Christmas," I whispered.  He nodded.  "And everybody is acting like nothing happened."

 

"Jess, we each mourn in our own way," he said.  "Grandma loved Christmas and everyone knows that.  They also know that she would be upset if we didn't have Christmas because she died."

 

"But this isn't Christmas," I insisted.  "Christmas is Grandma's marshmallow yams that we all only eat because Grandma loves them.  It's going to Grandma's and watching digital cable because mom and dad are too cheap to get it.  And it's opening presents from Grandma, that you know will be good but you don't have a clue what they are."

 

He pulled the tissue box off my desk and handed it to me.  I took a tissue out and blotted the corners of my eyes.

 

"Jess, Christmas is about being with family," he said.  "It's about remembering the past, but opening your heart for new memories."  He put his hand on my back and continued.  "You of all people should know that.  Ever since you could walk, you've been Grandma's little elf and now that she's gone, it's your job to keep her memory alive."

 

"But-"

 

My brother stood and pulled me to my feet.

 

"I don't know about you, but I feel like making a snowman," he said.  "You want to help me?"

 

I nodded and followed him out of my room.

 

"Great, now tell me something."

 

"Okay…"

 

"Why would you want to make yams if you hate them?"

 

"Because Grandma loved them," I shrugged.  "She said they were a delicacy when she was growing up in the forty's."

 

"Okay, well, I guess that makes sense," he shrugged as we walked out the front door.  He let out a shrill whistle, causing the others to stop their snowball fight.  "Let's make a great snowman for Grandma."

 

Instead of groaning like the previous year, my siblings and cousins quickly gathered to make the best snowman ever.

 

Later that night, I was laying in bed reading when someone knocked on my bedroom door.

 

"Come in," I called, setting my book aside.

 

I smiled when my dad came into the room and walked over to my bed.  "Thanks, Jess," he said.

 

"For what?"

 

"For making Grandma's presence known through your snowman," he replied.  "It just isn't the same without her."

 

I nodded my head in agreement.

 

"And I promise, next year our house will be lit up," he assured me.  "I wanted to do it this year, but -"

 

"It's okay, dad, I understand," I cut in.

 

He smiled before kissing the top of my head.  "Merry Christmas, Jess," he said.  "I love you."

 

"I love you, too, dad," I replied as I snuggled under my blankets with my stuffed snowman tucked under my arm after my dad left the room.

 

I don't know if it was the reflection of something outside or if I was just imagining something, but right before I closed my eyes, I saw a twinkle in the button eyes of my stuffed snowman.

 

In loving memory of my Grandma E

December 1, 1929 – December 5, 2006