Worst Christmas Stories: What's Your Story?

What Is Your Worst Christmas Ever Story?

I know we all have them and they stay with us forever.  My worst Christmas story ever was the Christmas in July.  I was 13 and my younger sister was 11 and our mother had been battling cancer for a good two years and had outlived the doctor’s prognosis of one year by an entire year.  But, her health was failing and she knew that she was coming to the end of her life.  She usually spent her day in bed but on a hot July Saturday afternoon, she put on her shoes, put in her teeth, and said, “sis, grab my bag.”  We headed to town.  I will never forget the people in Ben Franklin’s store.  Many had not seen my mom in months and they could not hide their shock at seeing her emaciated body.  She bought my sister and me a pair of jammies, our traditional Christmas gift, house shoes, and then she headed to the back of the store.  Occasionally, she would hold on to my arm to steady herself.  She picked out two suitcases, one for my sister and one for me, and on our way back up the front, she saw the old valentine dogs that had been in the store for a long time.  She said, get you girls a stuffed dog and I picked two white stuffed dogs with heart shaped eyes and large red bows.  She paid for our goods, and we loaded back up in the car and she drove us to the creek where we had spent our summers swimming—we were all baptized in that creek.  She pulled the car up to the water’s edge, and we sat there watching dragon flies skate across the water and she began giving us a world’s amount of advise and now that I am grown, I realize the urgency in her words: be good girls, don’t smoke, don’t date fast boys, stay in school, and remember me.  I said to her, “mama, don’t be silly, we will always remember you.”  She said, “Get the bags out of the back “and I did, and she said, “This is your Christmas gifts.  I know I won’t be here this year.  I know I’m dying.”  I bit my lip, something I learned to do to take the knot out of my throat, to stop me from crying.  I told her thank you and reminded her that no one knows the day or the hour, and she told me that only a fool would not be ready and she was ready.  She took us home and fall came early that year.  She began losing her battle and by Thanksgiving she was in the hospital.  On a December 3, while a light dusting of snow covered the parking lot, she lost her battle to cancer.  My little sister and I packed the blue suitcases she had bought for us, and with our stuffed dogs, she and I said good-bye to our house and to each other.  Christmas day, that same year, I sat on my older sister’s sofa and bit my lip as she handed me gifts from well-meaning friends and I tried not to cry and I tried to see the rainbow—she wasn’t suffering.  Every December 3ird, I call my younger sister and we talk about that Christmas in July—we both still have the luggage and the stuffed dogs, mine in a plastic bag in the top of my closet, her’s in a glass curio in her living room.  As bad as my Christmases have been in my life since that Christmas in July, and I have had some dosies, none have ever matched the one on the bank of the creek in 1967.  This year, my sister said, “I miss her as much today as I did when she first died.”  Before I hung up I said, me too.  Grief—what the hell. 

Your Mom would be so proud of you...

I think that all in all, my Christmasses have been better than most. One thing that really connects all of us is loss. So, as Jeannie related, the Christmasses of loss are always in our memories. Once that train leaves the station the losses seem to continue and they roll up together at Christmas. It's a love/hate relationship for me- I LOVE Christmas- it appeals to my kindness, my love of fun, my sense of wonder. But I hate the sadness that inevitibly rears it's head- not just in me- in most who have lived long enough to feel great loss. My hardest Christmas was the Christmas that came 6 months after my brother died. All of my childhood memories of Christmas and all other childhood memories for that matter were bound with him. I still have the Santa Clauses from our childhood- his and mine, our old stockings- his and mine, the ornaments that we made- his and mine. Life can be hard. It is wonderful, and I love my life, but we are all bound by grief. This year I mourn my entire childhood of Christmasses- now my Mom is gone too. It really is what life is all about. I do see the beauty- love and loss. It makes us who we are in many ways.
Julia

I had an older sister who died when she was only seven and an older brother who was killed in Vietnam. I have another brother who was MIA over there and later the redcross contacted my mom and told her he was a pow.  My mom found out a few months before she died that he was a prisoner and we had all hoped he would get home before she died, but that didn't happen.  I have an old sock that was my older sister's and my mom said the sock was what she was wearing when she died.  So, when my mom died, I didn't want to see it get thrown away, so I brought it with me and it has been a part of my relics ever since.  When we lose our loved ones, no matter how or at what age, they never leave us. My older sister died long before I was born and my brother died when I was just a baby.  The only memories I have of them are the pictures that my mom had, the sock, and my brother's coffin flag and medals.  I dread death of family members more than I can express…once they are gone it seems unfair to be happy and it seems unfair to forget them.  To us, may we learn to put the past in its proper place and remember only those good things from long years past. 

 Jeane,
You story made me cry. The December of 1964 on the 23rd it was the 3 rd day of chanukkah of the year my mother died at the age of 39. that was 47 years agoa nd I was 10. it was 3 days after my birthday. My parents had just taken me to my favorite place Bill Knapps for dinner. and to Goldblatts to buy me my first pair of ice skates. Then we went home. My mother went to bed cause in those days she was a sick women and stayed in the hospital a lot and in bed a lot and I didnt understand.
Well I went to bed and fell asleep. I woke up and noone was home. I went to play and tried to iceskate with a friend. I fell on the ice and low and behold broke my arm. My friends mom called my dad and he came home and took me to the ER. Mom wasnt at home. I asked dad when he came to get me where is mom. He wouldnt tell me. he took her to the hospital. But wouldnt tell me. She was in a room at the same hospital that he took me to get my arm set. I was taken care of and he took me home and my grandma was there and other people. I didnt know why. the doc came. gave me a shot I dont know why, and told us that my mom had died.... now that was not a nice Chanukkah presant. the rest of the christmas season was a big blur that year.
Carla

Carla,

You and I have a lot in common.  I missed my mother so much and still do.  I hate that my children never knew her and that after she died, I really never had home to come back to.  I know you know what I mean when I say that there's a certain feeling of protection that comes from being under a roof where your mom sleeps.  I hope you have a very, very happy new year.  

My Christmases have mostly been memorable; nobody has died. I have had some very lonely holidays, though.  My first Christmas in Montana, after my dad had died, was going to be very difficult, but my friend Margie and her family "adopted" me. They took me in on many holidays after that, in Montana and South Dakota, and I always felt a part of their family. It's why I always referred to Margie as my "surrogate" mother. She was always taking in strays ... I was one of them. I still miss her so much today.

Margie also gave me a special ceramic Christmas tree. She had given me my first kittens, Kittle and Cinnamon, and they were hell-raisers. I knew they would wreck any real tree I had. So Margie made me a ceramic tree and left it on the kitchen table for me one day. It made my first holiday so special in Montana.

One Christmas in South Dakota, my car was dying. I called my mom, crying, who chastised me for how I spent my money and told me she didn't like to hear me cry. I had no way to get to work, so someone had to pick me up. I couldn't get to Margie's for dinner that day. I had a frozen dinner for lunch. I was miserable. Margie's daughter brought me ham and potatoes and pie later that night.

I have spent a lot of holidays alone, depressed, unwanted ... but Margie always made me feel wanted. I miss her so much. I still feel her presence in my life. She made such an impact on my life.

Eileen,

I have spent a couple of holidays where I was far away from my sisters and as hard as I tried to substitute them, when it came down to the bottom line, I was never completely a member of any tribe.  Today, the sister that raised me called and said, you need to come by, I have something for your cigar box.  In our family, my mom used to bring home from her waitress job cigar boxes and each of us girls had one.  We used them for jewlery boxes and our treasure boxes.  So, I bet she has something of mamas that she is going to give me.  I found my sister's class ring in my cigar box, and I got it all cleaned and took it to her.  She said, why in the world was it in your box?  I said, probably cause I wore it or something like that.  So, she has something and I bet it is my mama's brooch.  She knows that I want it.

Well, soon you will be closer to your family and hopefully you will feel a little more security being near them.  I hope you have a wonderful new year.  

 ya know the other day I was so pissed off. My younger neice had posted 2 pictures of my mother on facebook of my mother. Now get this. I dont have any pictures of my mother and she does. I didnt say anything to her caue she is bi polar and she would go off on me. but i might say something. I just copied and pasted them to my album.
but she had no business posting them.
But that is a thorn on my side.
Carla

Jeannie,

I have been blessed. I don't have any worst memories of Christmas tho I am always left with a vague disappointment after the holiday season because it inevitably evolves into "excessive everything" and that leaves a hollow feeling. However, that is quickly replaced with my "spring renewal" anticipation.

On Christmas Day I was thinking of my mom and dad. I was blessed to have Dad in my life until I was in my mid 40s and Mom until I was 58. I recollected that my dad had been gone for TWENTY years. How quickly that 20 years went. . . And if the next 20 goes as quickly I will be the same age he was when he died, 82. . . . How did I get up the hill, over the summit and working my way down the other side of life?

Your cigar box reminds me of my brother who died of tetanus at age 3 in 1938. He was named Max Ray and was the first born. My mom kept 3 things: a little bag of marbles, a metal suitcase bank, and a harmonica. I kept the marbles, my brother Gray has the bank, and my other brother Gary has the harmonica. Oh yes, she also kept a little suit and cap, moving them with her wherever she moved and I'm sure shedding many, many tears. We buried the little suit and cap with her. Like you, I couldn't bear to throw away those things that were so dear to her. Max was born on January 1 so the holiday was always filled with his memory.

I think of the memory boxes that Julia recently made and how nice it would be to see those familiar treasures daily. Hugs to you Jeannie and all of us who suffer the losses that come along with the joys of life. Thank you so much for sharing your innards with us. I always go deeper because of your willingness to empty yourself even tho I don't always share it here.