Christmas Wish

Mom at Christmas, early 1970's

I have thousands of photographs, slips of Kodachrome in squares and rectangles. Faded black and whites with crinkled edges.  Polaroids whose images appear more ghostly with each passing year.  There are hundreds of sharp digitals and videos. Albums of archived memories that I've organized by year.  I spent the better part of one summer sorting and numbering negatives into neat drawers of cataloged envelopes.  And though my production of hard copies has slowed a bit with the advent of my digital phase, it's fair to say that my habit is a true obsession. Yet among all the pictures in my wide collection, this one is my favorite. It's a picture of my Mom.  It was taken at Christmas, sometime in the early 70's. Time for a story. It was almost Christmas. Mom had been away for four weeks, leaving the day after Thanksgiving to answer an important call of duty.  Though we missed her, we knew it was our responsibility to carry on until she was able to come back home.  Someone had to clean and decorate the house, string the lights, bake the cookies, wrap the presents.  It helped us to stay busy, and there was plenty to do to get ready for the big holiday!  Finally, it was Christmas Eve.  We all spent the entire day in completing the final preparations for Mom's homecoming. Surely she would be here in time for Christmas!  The tree lights were sparkling, the ham was glazed, and a delicious cake sat on the counter. Darkness fell early in the small community.  But still, no Mom.  Finally, in the waning hours of Christmas Eve, the family Plymouth pulled up in front of the little house.  When the back door opened and Mom rushed in, we all knew our Christmas gift had just walked through the door. Though she was tired and it was late, she had this beautiful smile on her face.  A smile that said simply, I would rather be right here, right now, than at any other place in the entire universe.  A happy homecoming.  A special Christmas.  Whenever I look at that picture, I remember that wonderful feeling we all had that Christmas.  I don't remember much about the gifts or the food, who else was there, or what we did.  But I do remember very well the feeling that things were right.  I remember the love.  And I remember the smile on my Mother's face.  As Christmas this year approaches, I want to enjoy every minute.  Not at the usual frenzied pace. And not the super size holiday that exists only on the set of a Martha Stewart show.  I find myself wishing for a simple celebration. For fewer gifts.  For less stress. For time to appreciate one another. For happy faces that tell me I would rather be right here, right now, than at any other place in the entire universe.