One of my favourite pictures, circa 1963, is this one of me and my Mum in front of the Christmas tree. It’s badly taken, that’s for sure. Probably from my Grampa Percy’s camera.
When I went to touch it up in photoshop I noticed that my Grandmother Winifred appears reflected in the living room window of my childhood home. Kind of spooky, considering my mother now looks exactly like her.(A four generational picture if you take into account that when a girlchild is born all the possible eggs waiting for fertilization and subsequent progeny are within her.)
This picture gives me much joy. My mother always made sure I had a lovely dress to wear on Christmas. Something, no doubt, she herself had sewn for me.
On the tree is a Santa Claus ornament made from a recycled toilet paper tube and cotton baton. Original tinsel which was painstakingly placed piece by piece (no throwing in our family). And taken off the same way, individually piece by piece and stored carefully for the next year.
My mother always took great effort to make a lovely Christmas for us.
Today I’m taking down our real cut Christmas tree. It has been a perfect little tree, not dropping nary a needle over the time it has adorned out house over the festivities. Forty dollars, a small amount to pay for a little Christmas cheer and to support Ontario agriculture.
And as I pack away the treasures of family ornaments I can’t barely keep from crying knowing that my mother’s experience of Christmas is immensely diminished due to advanced dementia.
Even though she is but a ghost of who she once was I am eternally grateful for the memories she gave me of Christmas.