Special Things Come from the Heart

By DEB RECH
I just spent the last three hours wrapping Christmas gifts and listening to holiday music but I can’t say it made me jolly. For one thing, all of the gifts weren’t even my gifts to give, but the woman who took me in last April after I lost my job as a writer for a daily newspaper the prior April.
The woman who took me in, Ruthe Schuler, is elderly and had a hip replaced in March and she told me I could move into the apartment she has in back of her house for free if I would take care of her so that is where I am now, living across the street from the home where I raised my two children, who are now teenagers and living with their dad. I am working in home health care but have only had one client for a while so not making even $100 a week. So I can’t afford even one Christmas gift this year.
While wrapping the gifts, my mind wandered to Christmases past. In one memory I am about 4 years old on Christmas Eve, sitting in my sister’s room in my pajamas, waiting to hear Santa’s sleigh bells on the roof. We had a friend who played the part for us while we believed and he came every year with one gift each for that night, even a can of cat food for our cat. My sister and I were all wide-eyed and giggles, hearing those magical bells.
In another memory, I see my grandmother, who I was very close to. She owned a Christmas tree farm in Pomona, Atlantic County (it’s still there). My sister and I would spend many weekends before Christmas helping strangers find and cut down their perfect tree. And Grandmom always had homemade chocolate chip cookies to hand out to her patrons. She never, ever charged more than $20 for even the biggest tree. She felt it wasn’t right and that everyone should have a real Christmas tree.
Grandmom always spent Christmas Eves with our family. When I was really young she slept with me in my bed. When I grew and she had to move from her farm with an aunt close by, I would walk her back and forth for her Christmas visit. She loved, loved, loved to open presents, but she was not a ripper by any means. We had to wait as she painstakingly and oh-so-carefully removed the wrapping paper, saving it for the next year.
One year when I was about 5, Santa came and delivered our one special toy. My sister got something I thought was better than me, I have no clue what it was; I think some kind of stuffed animal. Well I, frankly, was a brat! I cried, I was so upset, thinking Santa cared more about my sister than me. She got a nice toy and I got a bummer. Until later that night, my grandmom brought the toy, which I had discarded under the tree, and left sitting there, to me in my room and said, “Santa can’t get every child the same toys,” she said. “But he picked this toy especially for you and because he knew you would be able to give him love. Someday, remember that the most special things come from the heart.” The toy became one of my favorites after that because my grand mom made it special.
Now as I write this with tears falling down my cheeks, I think ‘so what if I have no house, no great job, honestly not much at all but my two children? I am blessed to have one of the nicest women in the world allowing me to live in her home and share in her life.’ And the thought finally came to me, ‘she’s a lot like grandmom! God placed her in my life over 10 years ago, knowing the situation I would be in one day.’
My grandmom died when I was about 22 so it’s been over 30 years, but her memories will never be erased and now God has given me the opportunity to take care of someone who could in fact be my own mother. I see it as payback to Him for giving me such a wonderful grandmom.
So to anyone reading this who is not having a Merry Christmas, just think that maybe the best Christmas you can have is in your memories of holidays past and that’s really NOT such a bad thing after all.
There are many who don’t even have happy childhood memories. If you don’t, I am very sad for you, but if you do and you are struggling this Christmas, take some advice. Just sit and let yourself remember how it may have been for you as a child and hold those memories dear.
Deb Rech writes from Villas.