Home For Christmas

The Jewell family, 1994

 One of my favourite Christmastime songs is “I’ll Home For Christmas” – if only in my dreams. Yep, it’s a sad song, one of yearning and wishing and remembering.

I always think of this as my Vancouver song – it’s the song I paid no attention to until my mid-twenties, when I lived in that city for five years, and didn’t go home (to Ontario) for Christmas.

My only memory of my first Christmas in Vancouver in 1996 is bittersweet. It snowed on Christmas Eve – a rare enough event – and I remember waking up early the next morning and taking the dog for a walk through snowy downtown streets when it was still dark and quiet. It was beautiful and it felt special. Newly married, I was sorry I wasn’t sharing it with my husband.

What does a “perfect Christmas” mean? A dark and snowy walk on empty city streets can bring as much joy as emptying stockings in a living room full of people. Streetlights shining on thick snow carries as much symbolism as lights twinkling on a tree. Dwell on the peace in the midst of gentle heartache.

It wasn’t until my father died in 2009 and I was going through boxes of photos at my parents’ house, looking for pictures to create the slide show of his life, that I noticed a pattern: my father wore red and green every Christmas. I always knew of one photo: Dad walking through the kitchen wearing only a pair of white Joe Boxers, and a pair of bright red socks. But going through all the pictures at once, I saw that every Christmas, every year, he wore red and green.

And I never knew until then, when he was gone, how much Christmas meant that much to him. His love of family went far deeper than I ever realized, because he didn’t talk about himself, or share his thoughts and feelings.

What does a “perfect Christmas” mean? Instead of obsessing over if-onlys and could-have-beens, dwell on the joy of learning something new about someone you love. Feel the poignancy of photos and memories, and let them provide comfort and contentment.

Recently, my mother shared with me how sad their first Christmas was without their two daughters at home. It was just the two of them, alone in their big house, for that first Christmas we were not together as a family. This happens – we grow up, move way, make our own way in the world – and it’s happening this year in particular – many people are not going home for Christmas because we are choosing safety and caution over gathering.  

What does a “perfect Christmas” mean? Acceptance is key. Dwell on the love – even if it’s long distance – and know that Christmas is just one day. There are memories to think about, and even if Christmas is a party for one, or a smaller gathering, there is always ONE new memory to make and to cherish.

This year, there is not such thing as a “perfect Christmas”; this year, we are weary, we are worried, we are ready to be done with this nonsense – and we’re not even at Christmas yet! But this year is different; we are grieving and we are celebrating at the same time, in smaller numbers, alone, just us. And we need to accept that, and dwell on what really matters.

This is an opportunity to let go of expectations, to let go of pressure to be perfect. Whatever we do on Christmas Day – a snowy walk through empty streets, waking up alone in an empty house, or wearing your special clothes even though no one will notice – is perfect and meaningful to us.

Christmas is just one day… and sometimes it means singing, “I’ll be home for Christmas”, knowing it’s just a dream. Just remember: the peace, the joy and the love is real.