That Christmas we learned exactly what the season is supposed to mean. We now knew how important our family was. We’d learned how much we didn’t need the toys and gifts. That year, our family grew closer than ever before. That is a Christmas that I will never forget. Just as if a photo album had been made, I can recall each and every detail of that momentous year when everything I ever knew, and ever will know about Christmas changed forever.
I was only ten when we moved to the Emerald Isle. The lush hillsides coated with permanent rustling grasses and untouched valleys. The all-seeing Sapphire sphere above, encrusted with fluffy cotton balls, encircled the beauty of this permanently medieval land of gold and fairytales. This new home was filled with moist air, open skies, and a funny sounding English. The language was quite a linebacker to tackle. Take a can of English, a knife-tip of redneck, an ounce of fairytale, a cup of sunshine, two tablespoons munchkins sucking helium, a teaspoon of Guiness beer and a large helping of redhead and you’ve got IRISH…Gaelige to be exact. Okay, so not quite, but that’s what it felt like to my untrained ears. It was all foreign and unknown to me.
The days past and the months rolled over to one another just like any other year. Before starting the rotation all over again, the year put itself on pause for December to enact its entire program. Europeans know how to do Christmas right! There’s more of a sense of family and calm in the holidays. Each piece of the season has a deep-rooted or even ancient meaning. December 23rd should have been just like any other Sunday. We go to church (or as we kids liked to think suffer through sitting still in uncomfortably annoying chairs watching old women sniffle and old men snooze) come home, eat lunch, light the advent candle, and play games.
That morning, I overheard mom and dad talking in their bedroom. This, eavesdropping game was one we enjoyed playing, especially around Christmas. Who knew if we’d hear a present mentioned, or discover the location of a hidden surprise? We were blind treasure-hunting pirates following an unseen map; the directions deciphered from between the floorboards on a rickety ship on a stormy sea. This clue, however, made absolutely no sense – something about gray, an eye, and a doctor. That’s all I got! Downtrodden and deflated, I returned to my room with no new information. After school, instead of heading home, we drove to Dublin; a place that sounded dubious only because its name started with those letters. Odd change of direction, but I just assumed it was part of the suspense that lead to the ultimate surprise. Maybe a gray puppy, I’d always had my eye on of those.
Christmas Eve found us entering a white building that rivaled the Tower of Babel in height and the language spoken therein could’ve had even the Brother of Jared asking for a translation. The doctors and nurses stared at scribbles and scratches on clipboards. My then 6-year-old brother drew better than they did, but I didn’t dare point that out, we were walking down endless hallway after another until finally we reached THE door. Once inside, my brother and I were given coloring books and reading books, and told to sit quietly in the corner. That recluse by the radiator was welcome when compared to the nurse’s face that stood sentry duty in the corner while mom and dad sat interrogation-ready across the table from the doctor. All their words made no sense until the headline of my daily news report slipped from the lips of the doctor, “surgery in the morning…not leaving tonight…stay at least a week”. The room began swirling in the lake now forming, but trapped by an invisible force in front of my pupils. The doctor’s meaning finally constructed the Lego tower in my mind. Dad was not coming home with us tonight, nor would he be home tomorrow. CHRISTMAS WAS CANCELLED!!
Over the previous week, dad discovered his vision morphing into prime seats at a gray wall paint-drying festival. The doctors decided that a detached Retina took precedence over our family. How dare they!
The whole hour long drive home my brother slept, but I gathered the salty precipitation on the shoulder of my favorite handmade dress with the ruffles and bows, now limp with dampness, trying not to let mom know I was still awake. I didn’t understand; Christmas meant receiving things, not giving them…especially not giving your dad to Dublin. They didn’t need him, I DID!
Early Christmas morning, the presents lay untouched, the tree unlit, the house frozen as though the movie was paused while the watcher went to the bathroom. We’d slept in our clothes that night, having been too upset and tired for mom to get us to sleep in our own rooms. Why was dad not coming home for Christmas? As soon as we arrived at the hospital, I had a dialog of what I was going to chew the doctors out about, but it all seemed useless when I saw my dad lying there motionless with bandages all over his head. At that point, all I could do was cry. The brave oldest child façade was as temporary as the gauze turban my dad wore. I had transformed into a scared 3 year old. I didn’t understand nor comprehend anything that was going on around me. He wasn’t coming home and I sensed he was in pain.
The next week slimed across the sidewalk like a slug on anesthesia infused antihistamine. The tree, presents, stockings, cards, and joy of Christmas was still “to be continued…” as we brought dad home. He could do nothing but lie on the couch face-down and grow scraggly facial-hair. Everyday flowed as the day before; a permanent Groundhog Day. We spent every night reading stories, listening to movies, and describing every detail of our art homework to him as he lay patiently and painfully in the same position. From that day on, we understood the true meaning of Christmas. I knew, in my limited professional and business experience, that this Christmas was my favorite of all time because the holiday had nothing to do with the gift-wrap, store windows, overplayed songs, expensive debt inducing items, or checked-off wish lists. It was all about our family, the memories, and the meaning behind the day. I learned what Christmas really needs to be about.
