I’ll Be Home for Christmas


 

When I was a child, about eleven or twelve years of age, Sister Alexina, the Our Lady of Perpetual Heart School's music teacher asked me to sing a solo in our school's annual Christmas concert. I was very proud as my brother Glenn, usually landed the leading roles in the Christmas pageant (the King, the Santa Claus, God, etc). On the night of the concert, I fought with my mom over the styling of my hair for the show. I flounced off to the concert angry, but also a bit worried that my parents might not come and witness my singing debut, given my bad behaviour.


 

During the performance, but prior to singing the solo, I searched the crowd from my view on stage, but could not spot my parents in the audience. I was distraught that they were angry with me and weren't going to come to the show, due to the dust up over my hair. However, just as I rose to sing my song, I saw my parents entering the auditorium and taking their seat. I was rushed with strong feelings of gratitude and love. I sang with emotion, that sad song of longing that Sister Alexina had selected for me to sing, I'll Be Home for Christmas.


 

Last week, I was again rushed with this same emotion. It was unexpected and came from nowhere. Christmas represents so much to me: the mystique of the crib and the magic of Santa Claus; the beauty of decorated trees and the glow of coloured lights; the joy of family time and the fun of friends; the hustle and bustle and the anticipation; the wonder of snow falling and the awe of Christmas Eve; the sentiment in the carols and the gift of traditions.


 

Bill and I were in the Cinnamon Grand Hotel, in Colombo, last week. We decided to go for a walk. We were just crossing the giant marbled, grand lobby of the hotel, when I commented on all the numerous Christmas trees, lavishly decorated for the holidays. Out of nowhere, I was weeping. In that moment, looking at a white Christmas tree with orange and blue balls, my defense mechanism of denial was torn away and I was rushed with longing that for me, this year, I would not be home for Christmas. I wouldn't be decorating a tree and I wouldn't be with my family and friends for Christmas.


 

I leaked tears throughout our walk. Our walk was followed by a lengthy hair appointment where the Christmas Carols looped through the music piped into the salon. One of the songs was, I'll Be Home for Christmas, If Only in My Dreams. Again, I was struck with emotion. I wept in the chair, discreetly wiping away my tears so the stylist couldn't see me.


 

Upon reflection, I also realized that my Dad passed away one year ago on December 22 and just a few days before he died, I decorated a tree for him in the Hamlets Home where he was staying due to his health condition. He gave us a beautiful and holy death serving us as a strengthening bond for all our family. It was like a Christmas present from Dad.


 

Reflecting on my feelings also revealed that I will be home for Christmas. I carry the memories of Christmas in my heart and the love of my family in my soul. The joy of my grandchildren (5 now) are embedded in my mind. I carry the laughter of my friends with me in my person. I remember the joy of Christmas as a child, the joy of creating Christmas for my children and the joy I feel watching my children create Christmas for their children. Yes, I will be home for Christmas - if only in my dreams.

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