Evergreen

Winters in New England can be cold and dark; a sunless, starless, windblasted landscape of barrenness. I always long for the first snow to fall, blanketing the orphaned trees and transforming rough angles to soft and graceful curves. It's a hard season, this; the days are short, life and color seem to have fled from the earth, and there is a stillness to everything which seems to plummet our minds to below-zero depths from which we search for light and hope. In the midst of winter's hardship, I fixed the eyes of my childhood on one bright star shining in the early winter darkness:  Christmas.

The holiday season was filled with delights for every sense. My eyes devoured the brilliant lights and gaily wrapped packages; ears feasted on the timeless echo of carolers in the frosty darkness; a banquet of balsam, cinnamon and hot cider invited me to seek the aroma's source; fingers brushed tinsel strands and warmed to cheering fires; my mouth watered for the shapes of sugar cookies and striped ribbon candy. And the tree! The Christmas tree rose above it all. Living, drinking, shining in the night: something warmed inside when I stood before it. Often, when the rest of the house was asleep, I would slip out of bed and tiptoe down the stairs to the corner where the tree was enshrined. Turning on the winking lights like a strand of multicolored stars, I knelt before its radiance, my eyes raised to the shining star at the very top. I tried to empty my mind of childhood worries and fill my small frame with all that peace and beauty.

On Christmas Eve we followed the German tradition from my mother's family. From the age of eight I sang with the choir through all four services; and so, in between the afternoon and early evening service, we gathered at my grandmother's for baked ham, potatoes, turnip and carrot, and fresh rolls. There was also something awful called Sunshine Salad - a concoction of orange Jell-O and shredded carrot - which I never touched. How I miss its presence now! After dinner, we shared "dollar gifts" - small, inexpensive presents we bought for each other - and also beautifully wrapped gifts from our friends in Germany. Then back to church for me to sing in three more services, finally arriving home after midnight with my cheeks flushed and eyes bright with the memory of candlelight and carols.

I lay awake thinking of the music, the candles, the bells, and the hushed, expectant feeling that pervaded the church. There was something so special, so sacred about all of this, but I wasn't sure what it was. When everyone else was asleep, I made my pilgrimage to the tree and knelt, my eyes fixed on the star. I thought, not of sugarplums and presents, but of three kings who followed a star through the cold desert darkness to bring gifts to a newborn child. The scriptures read at church said he was a savior, God-with-us, and the fulfillment of prophecy; I couldn't understand it all. Instead, I pictured the tiny family in that lowly stable, thinking of the baby that grew into a man who loved children, and was glad he came.

The next morning, my brother and I rushed downstairs as early as we could and ransacked our stockings and opened presents from our parents, wrapped in newspaper. After breakfast there was time for exulting over new toys until our grandparents and various relatives arrived for a luxurious Christmas dinner. There were so many over the years! Sometimes aunts and uncles, a cousin or two - even our elderly neighbors came. After coffee, the whole party adjourned to the family room while my brother and I had the task of delivering all the presents under the tree to their recipients. We unconsciously seemed to develop a sequence; everyone seemed to be getting a new present as soon as they had finished admiring the previous one. We loved our little job; we loved this day, the presents, our family, and even each other for a while. Oh, Christmas! How sad I was when I realized it was all over for another year. Decorations and ornaments were put away, and the dying tree was dragged to the curb with rubbish bags full of wrapping paper and ribbons.

Over the years, change descended like a gentle snowfall, slowly obscuring our traditions and the footprints leading to them. It began with an artificial tree, so much cleaner and perfectly shaped. The year I was married, the old decorations I loved were left in storage and my mother hung everything with pink and rose bows - the color of my bridesmaids - gowns. How I hated it in my heart! I didn't know why. The next year my brother married and moved away; I divorced and stayed away. Our cousins had families of their own. Death began to shrink our family circle; our elderly neighbors, Grandfather, Grandmother, Mother. Today, at the dinner table, while our lips thank God for what we have, our silent hearts can only long for what we haven't.

The year after my mother died, we sold the house I grew up in. The familiar pathways I used to navigate in the dark were lost as the rooms slowly emptied. That Christmas, at the new house in Hew Hampshire, my father dispensed with the tree altogether. It took up too much room; it was too much work. My brother and his wife wanted to spend time with her relatives, and so the rest of the family decided that it was easier to get together just for Christmas Eve. We would have dinner - not ham but scallops - and then open our gifts afterwards. The news brought an empty, almost sick feeling inside me. Looking back, it was at this moment that I felt the loss of all the holiday traditions I so cherished. They had been abandoned by a family that had forgotten both them and me.  They had forgotten that I would be where I had always been on Christmas Eve, doing what I had always done: singing. I would be at church 40 miles away.

I missed dinner and came late; and although I wouldn't say so, I was angry and hurt by the new arrangements. Confused by the strength of these feelings, I wanted to stamp my feet and shout Why can't it be the way it was? Everything's wrong!  Strangely on the verge of tears, I left early and drove to my lonely apartment, my Christmas already over for this year.

Leigh Deacon 1996