It Wasn't All Bad: Memories of Christmas Past
A trip down memory lane after family estrangement.
My mother always had the most beautiful Christmas tree.
I know a lot of people say that about their childhood Christmas tree. But she really did.
And it wasn’t real. But it looked it.
They don’t make them like that tree anymore – a meticulously-designed artificial from the late 80’s or early 90’s – and every person who saw it thought it was the real thing.
We had to hook each individual branch into the trunk of the tree – bottom to top – and fluff out the “pine needles” just so.
To make the tree look extra full and bright, my mother taught me to weave the lights into the tree, wrapping them around each branch, one by one.
It was my job to hold and feed the lights to her hands, while she went around and around the tree.
The TV would be on the background, and I remember Christmas cartoon classics when I was little and movies like Dirty Dancing when I was older.
My mother liked to do most of the tree by herself, but she always saved one set of ornaments just for me. A wooden set she’d painted when she was pregnant with my older half-sister. They’d be hung last to fill in the sparse spots and make the tree look fuller.
I usually waited until I had the living room to myself – a room I didn’t spend a lot of time in unless I was alone – so when I’d hang the ornaments, it was a private moment. Just me and the tree.
I have a core memory from one year. I was around 14 or 15, and my parents were downstairs in the hot tub– I can still smell the chemicals wafting upstairs, mixed with the scent of my father’s weed, and the candles my mother would have lit. A comforting smell, actually. In my house, all of those scents together meant they were “happy,” and so I felt safe to feel “happy,” too.
I put their Mariah Carey Christmas CD on in my portable CD player, somehow attached it to myself, and while they were off in “happy land” downstairs, I was free to just be. To bask alone in the glow of the tree while hanging ornaments and enjoying my Christmas music– “even the Jesus songs.” Something I loved, but didn’t quite know why back then.
I actually remember the feeling of innocence that night. A sense of purpose during something pure and joyful, unknowingly spending time with Jesus through the music, and feeling the excitement of the holiday season upon us.
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Christmas decorations usually started the weekend after Thanksgiving.
My mother and I would pull all of the boxes down from the attic and lug them to every room in the house. For the longest time, the boxes of decorations were falling apart and barely labeled, but somehow she always knew where to find them, what was in them, and exactly where they were supposed to go.
And every year, there was the wooden advent calendar – a scene of Santa’s Workshop – my favorite decoration, second to our Christmas tree.
When I was little, I’d open the calendar before going to school, and when I got older and had moved out, if my mother knew I was visiting, she’d usually save that specific day for me– especially Christmas Eve.
Christmas Eve was always my favorite night of the year. Even after I stopped believing in Santa Clause.
My mother had the magic touch with holidays, and especially with gifts– with wrapping them, placing them around the tree with care, stuffing the stockings just right. The colors, the aesthetics, the placement– it was all “perfect.”
On Christmas Eve, it was my own tradition (one I started when I was little) to get up in the middle of the night, go out to the living room and gaze at all the presents, choose one to open by myself, and then go through my stocking.
I’d also read the note Santa had left for me and feel so much excitement at the sight of his reindeer’s half-eaten carrots. So many details and so much magic.
Then I’d put A Christmas Story on low on the tv and sleep by the tree until morning when my parents would get up and find me there. Something I still did for many years as an adult. Everything was always cozier by the tree.
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Growing up, Christmas Day was the only day of the entire year when I had my parents undivided attention for more than a few minutes– when I felt like they both cared.
They’d sit and watch me open my presents and express joy on their faces, and I loved watching them open theirs, too. The ones from me, and the ones they gave to each other. In that moment, watching my mother open presents from my father, it actually felt like he was a good man1.
My dogs would open their presents, too– our white poodle when I was a kid, our black poodle when I was an adult. Always tons of photos and laughter as they’d go through their stockings and rip through wrapping paper.
The magic of the season, the lights, the decorations, the Christmas music, the cozy fire, the presents, the special surprises and little traditions, and the sense of togetherness – something my ex-husband took part in for many years, too – it made the house feel like it was full of love and joy.
And I was always a bit sad once it was all over and everything got put away. Because with it, the feeling of love and joy went away, too.
Then everything would go dark again.
—
Christmas provided tradition and an expectation that there would be peace and calm, even if just for a day, and even if we were all pretending to be peaceful and calm.
Christmas is one of the reasons why it wasn’t all bad.
And this year, I’ve been allowing myself to look at and to reflect on the things that weren’t all bad.
I’ve been asking myself: “What made me stay for as long as I did? What felt good? What helped me to forget the pain?”
I know Christmas was a big part of it. It helped me to “love and light” the darkness away. To hang on until I just couldn’t hang on anymore.
Which is why Christmastime 2020 is the last time I saw or hugged my mother.
I still remember how she looked and felt. The way she held onto me, and how hard it was to go, but also how I couldn’t wait to leave. Always this push and pull between us.
While writing this – something I hadn’t planned, but was simply a strong urge I listened to – I realized it was three years to the day since I last hugged my mother: December 27th, 2020.
The body always knows.
The hugs I gave and the goodbyes I said were ones I didn’t know would be my last, though I had a strong feeling it would be the last time I’d walk through that house.
I had the sense that they’d be moving the upcoming year, that it would be my last Christmas in that living room with that tree, and so I made sure to be extra present with everything before I left.
Of course, I never would have never predicted the events of the next three years– estranging myself, going no contact, taking legal action against them both, and moving far away to ensure we’d have thousands of miles between us forever.
—
Today, I’m healed enough to know that it’s okay to feel grateful for what was good and for the special traditions I did receive growing up.
I even feel grateful for the spark of light my mother had inside of her– enough of a spark that she was willing to go the extra mile to make Christmas the bright spot in my life. I feel those Christmases were a huge part of what kept me connected to Jesus, so that I could one day be led by Him out of the darkness.
Ultimately, that spark of light inside of her went totally black, and she wasn’t able to show up for me in the ways that I truly needed her to, which went far beyond Christmas lights and perfectly-wrapped presents.
But this year, I’m giving myself a moment to remember our last hug and the last New York Christmas I’ll ever have – both the bad parts and the good parts – before I continue moving forward with my brand new life and all the new traditions to come.
A new life I’ve barely scratched the surface on, but am ready to move full steam ahead with in 2024.
A life that WILL be FULL of true joy, laughter, love, magic, and childlike wonder, and one day… a big, beautiful tree, a family of my very own, and a home that’s full of love every single day of the year.
I truly believe that.
– Malana
A Woman Uncaged
So heart felt 🎄I can relate to all of this. My childhood Christmases were magical and I appreciate your perspective here. You’ve encouraged me to celebrate those good memories. Thank you 🙏
This was so beautiful to read, thank you for sharing 🥹