Eileen Loveman Daily Posting

Getting closer to the end of my life than nearer to the beginning, I am often beset with memories and recollections of days gone by, holidays and celebrations forefront in my mind.  As it is the Christmas season, I am flooded with snippets of images and my ears ring with old conversations.

Of course, I don’t remember my first Christmas; in fact, there aren’t many childhood occasions that spring forward to the space behind my eyes, beckoning to be called out and polished once again for the season.

But I do recall a Christmas where I was filled with envy and jealousy, a lethal combination in someone so short in experience and wisdom.

I had only received thirteen Christmas presents that year; I was insolent and spoiled enough to count them – how I must have hurt my parents to bemoan the fact there were only 13 – I don’t think I’ve ever given my children 13 presents each for Christmas.

But there I was, crying and raging because I didn’t get the doll I wanted – and my sister did.  What an awful memory of Christmas to carry around with me, but I take it out year after year, and remember how NOT to behave during the most high holiest of holy days.

My first Christmas as a working teenager was filled with pride and accomplishment.  I had bought for my parents a decanter set, inlaid with gold and spun glass.  A beautiful work of art to my uninformed eye, but to see it now I am amazed at how gaudy a creation it really was.   Even thought they didn’t drink wine, it sat on the dining room buffet, glaringly opulent in all its glory.

The first Christmas on my own was spent in a small apartment with a 1 year old baby, a son who was to learn quickly the value of love as opposed to monetary treasures – he truly was happy with a GI Joe and some small metal trucks.   The first child always get shorted somehow– its just seems to be the nature of life.   But they are never shorted on love.

Children are the best part about Christmas, and I was blessed to have 4 and 6 at any given time, with friends and cousins also joining in the fray.  It’s part of the best memories of my life and I wouldn’t have done things differently if given the chance.  Gifts were not as plentiful as in my childhood, but the time was taken to make sure it was what they wanted and what they could share.  Leggos and dollies, army men and ninja turtles, tea sets and jump ropes, the toys were intertwined and woven between them all, a way to connect and continue to grow as a family and as siblings.

My Christmas as a grandmother took on a whole new level of joy and depth of feeling.  To see the creation that is part of you but not by you is amazing on so many levels. 

But finally I come to this Christmas, where the emergence of new love and companionship was a gift to myself one Christmas morning several years ago. 

The true meaning of the season is the gift we give to each other; the forgiveness towards a spoiled child who grew up to be a grateful woman – and the part of ourselves that is the most treasured. 

Our Hearts. 

Merry Christmas, everyone.