On remembering Christmases of the past

Tybee Island, Ga. --- A blog can be very therapeutic. So it is with this entry.

I believe there are “givers and takers” in this world. My Mother was a “giver”.

Thanksgiving and Christmas were my Mother’s two favorite times of the year.

My earliest remembrances of both actually come from the days when we lived in a “brick house” on Ratliff Street. Now the significance of a brick house will mean very little to many of you but to me it was like we lived in a “mansion” and somehow even at 6-years old I knew we had “arrived”. I actually had my own room that had windows on two sides. I liked that room so much that I have replicated it in our cabin on Lake Barkley. It was in this brick house that I first remember my Mother's love of the holidays.

The brick house was to be short-lived, however, as my Father sank into a deep depression and began worrying about whether he could afford it; and whether he would be laid off from his job; and other personal issues that I now realize were more important things in his life. Eventually we would move back to the family home place and I would accept it as my home and be saddened when it was sold years later.

Although the holidays were special for me and Mom, I don’t believe that my Dad was a particularly happy man and although my Mother tried to be happy and content I suspect she was less so than she ever let on to anyone. This was complicated by the fact she was a “giver”.

Maybe, if the truth were known, it was my arrival on the scene on September 2, 1950 that created such disruption and angst between my parents. I always “felt” that I was not a planned child and that some how I came between my parents and their own happiness.

Now make no mistake about this, this was never said to me and my Mother always seemingly actually cherished me, however, my Dad seemed to just tolerate me. Whereas my Mom was a warm and engaging person like all of her family my Dad was cold and distant like all of his family. The two as a couple simply did not seem to “fit”.

Years later I would understand that my Dad married my Mother to “get away” from what I am sure was a bad family environment and yes, I did the same thing when I got married at 19-years old in 1969 to my first wife and engaged in a 10-year “practice” marriage.

Perhaps the “split” between my Mother and Dad was due to the fact that at 6-months old I was rushed to Jennie Stuart Hospital on the verge of death due to a intestinal blockage. My life was saved literally by a courageous Dr. Gaither who performed the first out of body reassembling of internal organs ever done on a child that young. I suspect at that point my Mother literally devoted her life to me and my Dad got put to the side. I quite suspect that my Dad began to create his own alternate reality (and life) at that time and we were not part of it.

It was only after their passing that I actually found photographs of them smiling and seemingly enjoying one another’s company. All those photos were before I came along.

Many of the photos we have of ourselves as a family seem to show some pretty dour and serious people including myself.

Yet, my Mother, God rest her soul, always went out of her way to make Thanksgiving and Christmas special for us. This was aided by the fact she liked to give of herself during the holidays.

In my earliest childhood recollections, I can remember lavish dinners with turkey and my Mother’s sage and chicken dressing; jam cakes and lemon pies; turnip greens and fried chicken; and a wide variety of homegrown canned or frozen vegetables. Mother would work for hours on end preparing food enough for her family and Dad’s family, who for some reason never came and ate together.

Mother loved to decorate. Her tree was always filled with ornaments of new and old. I still have many of my childhood ornaments including a cherished plastic snowman and Santa Claus.

And Mother loved her “traditional” holiday television. She was the first to always watch It’s a Wonderful Life, White Christmas, The Charlie Brown Christmas, and when he was living The Elvis Presley specials.

She liked her homemade boiled custard and would only buy eggnog for me. She liked wrapping presents and placing them under the tree and she most assuredly enjoyed watching kids open their presents.

I asked my Mother one time what her most cherished Christmas gift ever was. And only after prodding did she reveal that it was a goldfish that her Dad bought her one Christmas.

Sadly, the little fellow didn’t make it through the night. It seems he literally froze in his bowl on the hearth at their cabin. Yet, when she would tell that story it was not through a veil of sadness yet sheer excitement of having a Father who cared enough to try and make her Christmas special.

I believe that Christmas in my Mother’s mind was special because it meant that all her family would eventually come to visit and through such visits she could give of herself.

She was never at a loss to cook and entertain at Thanksgiving or Christmas. She was at her best in those days always hustling and bustling trying to ensure that everyone had enough to eat and drink.

That is what I fondly recall of my Mother’s love of Christmas. It is through such recollections and reflections that I am able to begin finally the grieving process not just for my Mother but also for all those dear souls that have passed over in the past few years. I have always been one to delay my grieving sometimes for decades!

Life is surely made of memories. Some are good. Some are bad. Some are happy. Some are sad. It is our memories that make our lives special and unique.

May this Christmas season create special memories for each of you.

Until next time.



Dr. Darryl

L. Darryl Armstrong

www.ARMSTRONGandAssociates.org