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Steven Beste's avatar

Merry Christmas to all.

You write that your mother lost her mother at the age of seven. It gave her the passion to celebrate Christmas. My mother too had lost her mother at an early age, seven days after her birth. Mom was born on December 12, 1931 and her mother died December 19, 1931. There was no Christmas for her family that year.

Luckily, mom’s spinster aunt, Albina, came to manage the household for her brother’s family. She cared for my mother and her sister until four Christmases later in 1935 when she too died. Auntie Bina had a stroke while cleaning up the bathroom.

Mom was farmed out to a paid caretaker’s family because her father, being a fireman, couldn't be home half the time. Being a four year old girl living at a foster home by people that were paid to care for you weighs heavy on you. Her sister blamed her for their mother's death and breaking up the family wouldn’t talk or see her sister for the next twenty years. Her father saw her maybe twice a week for only a couple hours. Most of the time, mom was on her own.

It was her dream of having her own family and having a Christmas celebration of her own. This was her goal from an early age. She grew up, met and married my father, had a family and celebrated Christmas just like she dreamed. The sisters reunited, all was forgiving, and all of us were happy.

My mother is ninety this Christmas. Her husband, sister and father passed many years ago. She is very cautious about the pandemic but her family will still be with her on Christmas in a responsible manner. Wearing masks and keeping a responsible distance as she has requested. She has worked long and hard to make this happen. This was a goal she set many years ago and she is so thankful to God that she was blessed to see it happen. Dreams do come true.

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Bobbie Guillory's avatar

I do love Christmas stories! My mother loved it, too. We always had a REAL tree, hauled in by my dad, and placed in the holder with water to help it stay green. The decorating was led by my mother...first the lights, then the glass ornaments and lastly, the icicles. Do you remember the long, thin strips of silver we hung on the ends of the branches? My mother saved them year to year..."Why, some people just throw them on and toss them out with the tree! Can you imagine?" The war years remained in her soul. She saved every one and hung them with care and preserved them from year to year. I miss her so.

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