Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays are very special times in my family. My Mother has always been the ultimate holiday planner, orchestrating everything – from what will be served on the twelve-foot long dining table to making sure that everyone has a place to sleep for the night.
Mom would bake for days before the holiday to make sure each of us had our favorite holiday cookies and pies of chocolate, lemon meringue, pumpkin and apple. My favorite is the strawberry jam filled cookies she has prepared every year for as long as I can remember. When I was younger and living at home, she’d usually need to bake everything twice because my brothers, sisters and I would eat what she baked faster than she could bake it. Still today I can close my eyes and remember the wonderful aroma that came from her kitchen. I’m sure it’ll be something I’ll never forget.
As we grew up and got married, had children of our own, and moved to all parts of the country, the holidays at Mom’s house became even more special for us. For those of us who were able to come home, it gave us an opportunity to share our traditional family holiday with wives, husbands, children, and friends. Even when some of us were missing from the dining room table, they were not forgotten. They were remembered in our thoughts, in our hearts, and in the prayers of the day. Mom made sure of that.
With excitement, we would anticipate the holiday feast that was sure to cause some of us to take a nap later in the day. The “grazing,” as Mom would call it, began the minute we walked through her door and, taking into consideration our grazing, I’m still amazed that we could eat the main meal and still go back for seconds and sometimes thirds. There’s just something about Mom’s cooking that allows you to do that.
All of us, including the little ones, would sit for hours reminiscing about our childhood and growing up. Of course, I’ve always got to throw in the story about the time when Mom gave me a bloody nose. Honestly, she didn’t mean to bloody my nose, but it’s become a tradition to embellish the story a little. I think the last time I told the story, it included something about being thrown into the middle of the street in front of the house and being run over by a twenty-ton steamroller. I’m sure that I’ll eventually run out of things to add to the story, but I’ve still got ideas that I save just for the holidays. It’s my donation to the tradition.
As expected, the kids always want to know about their parent’s childhood and usually the stories are warm and loving, but their Grandma can’t seem to resist telling them some of the not-so-good stuff, too. I think it proves to them that we were once kids just like them and not always their moms, dads, aunts and uncles. It’s important for them to understand that.
Soon after the food, the stories, and a card game or two, the task of bringing out the air mattresses and making beds out of sofa cushions and sleeping bags began as we’d settle in for the night. Mom was always the last one to turn her light out. The job of the day wasn’t complete until everyone was in his or her assigned sleeping quarters. Asking each of us, “are you going to be warm enough, will you need another blanket?”, proved that our Mother will always be our mommy. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
In the confusion of the last goodnights, someone in the darkness of the back bedroom would usually yell “Goodnight John Boy!” The final valedictory comments of the evening were reminiscent of the Walton’s. In a sense I’d like to think we were like them in some way, or that they were like us.
Then as the house darkened and the boisterous sounds of our large family turned to only a whisper, I would silently say goodnight to my Dad so he would know that he was missed. I know he could hear me.
Dreams quickly replace consciousness and once again I’m safe and warm and happy. I’m home.
The miles between us and the fact that our children are growing up and starting their own families, makes it difficult for all of us to be together for the holidays now. But, what Mom has taught us about love, forgiveness, acceptance, and sharing is something that will continue the holiday traditions within each of our families.
I’m so very fortunate to have these memories. Even today when I’m not able to be home for the holidays, her traditions are carried into my home. I continue to share these memories with my children and my friends. I continue to build on those memories to keep the tradition that Mom has so carefully orchestrated a part of me and a part of my family.
Thank you Mom. I love you.