As a child, Christmas was filled with anticipation, smells coming from the kitchen days and weeks before the holiday. My grandparents would come over along with my bachelor uncle. It always felt so good to have my family around.
Dad would be busy fixing the lights, setting up the train, repairing the train so that it would make a few rounds on the track.
My brother and I often peaked into the wrapped presents which Mom would position on the table near the Christmas tree in our downstairs recreation room. When we were older.
Dad took off that year and Christmas was quiet. In truth it had been quiet years before. I was glad things were as good as they were. The following couple of years, my brother moved away. Forever. He would come home once in the summer and we wouldn't hear from him for months.
In the many years to follow, I would return to Mom's. She had remarried and moved into her husband's home some thirty minutes to the west of us. By that time, I had married and had children of my own. For many years, we would make the trek back to Moms. Even when we moved seven hours away. We always came home.
My senior relatives have passed. My children have grown and moved away. They have families of their own. Christmas still holds the same magic. The traditions matter less. Being together as a complete family is everything.
In two days I will see them all again. For the first time in a year, all of us will be together. A baby is on the way and that is the best gift I could ever have.
Soon.
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