THE CHRISTMAS STARWhen my mom, dad, three sisters and I arrived at her little house in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, we found she had waited up all night for us to arrive from Texas. After we exchanged hugs, Donna, Karen, Kristi and I ran into the house. It did seem a little empty without Grandfather, and we knew it was up to us to make this Christmas special for her. Grandfather had always said that the Christmas tree was the most important decoration of all. So we immediately set to work assembling the beautiful artificial tree that was stored in Grandfather's closet. Although artificial, it was the most genuine-looking Douglas fir I had ever seen. Tucked away in the closet with the tree was a spectacular array of ornaments, many of which had been my father's when he was a little boy. As we unwrapped each one, Grandmother had a story to go along with it. My mother strung the tree with bright white lights and a red button garland; my sisters and I carefully placed the ornaments on the tree; and finally, Father was given the honor of lighting the tree.
We stepped back to admire our handiwork.
To us, it looked magnificent, as
beautiful as the tree in Rockefeller
Center. But something was missing.
The star was my grandmother's favorite
part of the tree. As we emptied box after box and found no star, my grandmother's eyes filled with tears. This was no ordinary ornament, but an elaborate golden star covered with colored jewels and blue lights that blinked on and off. Moreover, Grandfather had given it to Grandmother some fifty years ago, on their first Christmas together.
Now, on her first Christmas without him,
the star was gone, too. That sounded logical, so we climbed on a chair and began to search that tall closet of Grandfather's. We found Father's old yearbooks and photographs of relatives, Christmas cards from years gone by, and party dresses and jewelry boxes, but no star. We searched under beds and over shelves, inside and outside, until we had exhausted every possibility. We could see Grandmother was disappointed, although she tried not to show it.
"We could buy a new star," Kristi
offered. The next morning, my sisters and I woke up early, as was our habit on Christmas Day--first, to see what Santa had left under the tree, and second, to look for the Christmas star in the sky. After a traditional breakfast of apple pancakes, the family sat down together to open presents. Santa had brought me the Easy-Bake Oven I wanted, and Donna a Chatty-Cathy doll. Karen was thrilled to get the doll buggy she had asked for, and Kristi to get the china tea set. Father was in charge of passing out the presents, so that everyone would have something to open at the same time.
"The last gift is to Grandmother from
Grandfather," he said, in a puzzled
voice. My grandmother shakily opened the box. Her face lit up with joy when she unfolded the tissue paper and pulled out a glorious golden star. There was a note attached. Her voice trembled as she read it aloud:
Don't be angry with me, dear. I broke
your star while putting away the
decorations, and I couldn't bear to tell
you. Thought it was time for a new one.
I hope it brings you as much joy as the
first one. Merry Christmas.
So Grandmother's tree had a star after
all, a star that expressed my
grandparent's everlasting love for one
another. It brought my grandfather home
for Christmas in each of our hearts and
made it our best Christmas ever.
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