It was Christmas Day of 1985 and the lights twinkled on the Christmas tree while the brightly covered packages below invited delight and curiosity. I stood for quite a while gazing at the tree and the presents, allowing the magic of Christmas to wash over me. Even though I’d reached the grand old age of 15 years, Christmas continued to enchant me. A part of me still believed in Father Christmas and our family seemed closer, united in celebration, more tolerant and contented. I loved this time of year.
I returned to my pink decorated bedroom and smiled at all my presents in the large pillow case at the bottom of my bed. I was eager to see what they were but I was waiting for my brother to join me. We always opened our presents together. I could hear him shuffling towards my room and giggled when he finally opened my door and emerged out of breath. “Come on, hurry, “ I urged him, “It’s time,”
“I know, I know,” he replied, struggling to lift his pillow case onto my bed, “This is heavy,”
I gazed at his presents with awe, “Crikey, I wonder what you have in there,”
“Let’s find out, shall we?” he replied, glancing at me with green sparkling eyes, “I’ve waited ages for this,”
“A whole year,” I smirked, pulling my pillow case up on to the bed, next to his, “Okay, shall we start together?”
“Hush,” my brother suddenly looked concerned and I listened. We could hear crying.
“What is it?” I asked with alarm.
My bedroom door opened and our mother came in with our father who was holding her upright. I searched my father’s face for an idea of what was wrong and when he spoke the world around me came tumbling down. “It’s Grandma,” he muttered as our mother sobbed, “She died. Early this morning,”
I heard my brother gasp and sink onto my bed. I stood rock still, unable to react, incapable of feeling anything but shock.
“But why?” I whispered.
The question lingered in the air and couldn’t be answered. Christmas was over before it had begun.
Richard, my 17 year old brother, coped by wanting Christmas to continue. I knew how much he loved Grandma but I dealt with the situation by drifting off into my own private dream world. Our poor mother; whose own mother had died, probably thought we didn’t care but we did, very much. However, being young, I had yet to learn how grief could affect me and stay with me for many years to come...
I loved my Grandma very much. When I was experiencing bullying at school I turned to her. She listened and empathised. She promised we would have a midnight feast one night and forgave me when I forgot to wake up. I spent many hours talking to her when she fell and cracked her ribs making her bed bound. How I must have bored her! When she was better, we had a wonderful time together one year by the sea with her sister, my great aunt, and I knew these memories would never fade. However, I was unable to express my emotions to my family and I became immersed in my own isolated world. I confided in no one but I made an exception for Sebastian. Sebastian was our family dog and I felt I had a special bond with him. Every Christmas he and I pulled a cracker together. I’d take one end of the cracker and he thought it was a game and would gently pull the other end with his teeth. Then when the cracker banged he would jump up at me with excitement and try to rush off with the contents with me dashing after him!
Christmas of 1985 I found Sebastian to be subdued. He didn’t want to pull a cracker. He loved Grandma too. I spent many hours with him, stroking his soft fur and gazing into his chocolate brown eyes. He understood what I felt and how when I heard my mother sobbing I just couldn’t go and comfort her. Demonstrations of affection were lacking in our family and I felt very awkward and confused. My father walked around with a grim expression on his face and my brother argued with my mother when he wanted to open his presents. I stayed on my own; thinking and wishing. I knew I was never going to forget this Christmas Day.
Many years have gone by now but every Christmas I remember my Grandma. Sometimes, even now, the memories are painful and I long for her and Grandpa to still be in my life. My mother copes by visiting her grave every year and we talk of times gone by. I regret not being able to express how I felt that sad Christmas Day but I know that Grandma understood. In my mind I can take a trip down memory lane and recall events and places with my grandparents that I hadn’t thought about for years. Maturity in some ways has enhanced my loss but I’m glad I remember; my Grandma really was the best in the world.
