For some reason decreed in the cosmos, many of my closest and most beloved relations have passed away just months short of Christmas. The departure of my wonderful mother fell into this same time frame.

Naturally, this takes some of the sparkle out of this year’s holiday, but in retrospect it is also a reminder at this time of year what she, my grandparents, aunts and uncles left behind and the magic they created for our family during yuletide. Reflecting on their love and sacrifice, I’m filled with gratitude for the joy we children felt and the special atmosphere they went to such pains to create for us.

As a child, Christmas was an extraordinary time filled with joy and anticipation. The release from school was eagerly awaited. My brother and I viewed this vacation from class as an escape from prison! Freedom to sleep in, play, sled ride, build snow forts, snowball fights and watch Mom bake wonderous treats — a certain portion of which we were free to eat, providing of course we finished our meals.

With Mom’s cooking that was never a problem.

Dad would “procure a tree” — he was exceedingly frugal — from the hill behind our home and it was always chaos dragging the snow-covered, half-frozen spruce through the front door, across the dining room and into the living room. Mom would be nervously hovering, broom and vacuum in hand attempting to contain the cascade of pine needles, snow, assorted dead leaves and bark, (once, a bird’s nest) that exploded outward when the limbs, tightly compressed, squeezing through the door jams, exploded outwards, randomly flinging debris everywhere.

My brother and I loved this moment, helping Dad place the tree into the base, screwing the supporting screws in and out as we attempted to position the tree exactly upright. Then the strings of lights! Always an undertaking as bad bulbs were replaced and each strand position across the branches evenly.

My brother, Gary, was a perfect little tyrant about light placement and the vertical position of the angel on the topmost boughs. When Mom, Dad and I were satisfied, “Good enough!” Dad would say, but Gary would glower at us, eyes blazing and overwhelmed by his moral superiority, we’d stand back while he performed the tiny adjustments needed to achieve perfection. Then we’d decorate the tree.

What happiness! The best part was we were able to decorate Grandad’s tree as well. This family tradition involved first, cocktails, followed by a big family dinner with Christmas deserts and ultimately, decorating the tree itself. Again, Gary by sheer will power overruled all adult authority and when completed the tree was decorated perfectly. It was surprising to me that the adults seemed glad to relinquish their supervision, allowing Gary to carry on with his passion for Christmas tree perfection. There was a lesson there for sure.

No sooner were the trees up than presents, bright beautiful packages with colorful paper, ribbons and bows, each filled with a mysterious present, began piling up underneath the boughs. Daily, the number grew and we were forbidden to shake, lift or in any other way attempt to determine their contents. Grandma Hayes was the warden and would scold us sternly for any misdemeanors, but she had trouble hiding her mischievous smile as she did so, watching our excitement and anticipation. Grandma loved her grandchildren deeply.

Grandpa cherished any family gathering but Christmas was undoubtedly his favorite. Raised in the coal-mining town of Kersey in the early 1900s, his boyhood Christmases were meager; miners’ wages low, company store prices exorbitant, money tight. Most everyone raised chickens, a milk cow or hog just to get by. Now he had the money and means to give his family the Christmas’s he never had. I didn’t understand till much later why he would just sit in his favorite chair, puffing on his pipe, eyes sparkling, contentedly watching his family interacting, the kids bustling around or just admiring the Christmas tree shining in all its glory.

Remembering those long-past Christmases, certain things stand out. The first is color. Everything was bright, clean and cheerful everywhere. Homes were decorated, streets turning into picture postcards. Main Street shimmered in lights and wreaths, many dressed in bright, colorful seasonal outfits.

Second, was laughter. Grandad’s house, crowded with family, all filled with holiday spirit, laughing, joking so happily.

Third, the smells — cookies, pies, cakes, turkey or ham, all those amazing, mouthwatering aromas filled the house! Treats and sweets and during Christmas we were allowed to indulge freely without being scolded unduly. It was difficult to choose which treat to eat. Peanut butter and black walnut fudge, sugar cookies, buckeyes, peanut butter blossoms, jelly filled cookies, peanut brittle, raisin cake, ginger snaps which we dipped into our tea, chocolate and lemon meringue pies, apple and cherry pies.

It was incredible, but playing outside in the cold quickly burned all that sugar up. Sled riding down the steep hill just up the street was a favorite pastime.

Finally, Christmas morning arrived! Dragging often hungover adults from their beds, we children distributed the gifts, piling them around each recipients’ feet, then every person opening each gift in turn so all could appreciate the gift and giver.

How fortunate I was, for those incredible Christmas memories, so filled with love and laughter. They’re bright beacons in my mind, sustaining and guiding me still.

I hope you all had a Merry Christmas … and Happy New Year!