The First

The first time Christmas eve was filled with their yelling I was eight.  The next morning my little sister and I smiled for his camera in front of a tree laden with things that were suppose to make us happy.

Sometimes it is a very long wait to you first real Christmas.

The first Christmas I spent with a man who didn't yell was hard for me to process. I'd waited a long time for him; ever since that eight year old stared into the camera and Christmas was full of empty things. But when this man spread powered footprints through our house pretending to be Santa and insisted we hide each other's presents, I simply asked him why.  Why would we do that? We didn't have kids yet.

He said it would be fun.

Fun?

Like a Christmas with no yelling? I couldn't understand. What did I know of fun? Sometimes it is a long wait to your first real Christmas.

The first Christmas I looked out over the high rise of Hong Kong you played those same silly Santa games. For just a little while I forgot how far away from home we were. And I loved you for it.

Your family visited and hid teddy koalas in every nook of our apartment. In February I found the last one. In the freezer. And I loved your parents too.

But I wanted to go home. Sometimes it is a long wait to you first real Christmas.

The first Christmas morning when we two were now three, we watched his little hands pull at wrapping and we laughed as he sucked on bows.

"No need for presents," you said. "Next year we'll just give him the box."

You meant to make me laugh. But I knew how few presents we'd been able to buy him this year. He'd grow too old for a box, and then what? What would happen that year? And the year after that?  Sometimes it is a long wait to your first real Christmas.

The first Christmas we flew the oceans back to Australia and finally called it home again we lived in bedroom under your parents' house.  You started you business from the garage of that same house. And when I couldn't see past the walls around me, you took my hand and told me to imagine next year. Our next Christmas. In our own home.

"We will find something we can afford to rent," you said.

Sometimes it is a long wait to your first real Christmas

The first Christmas when we three were now four, we had that house in the suburbs. A lovely rental with cheery feelings. Our house. A home. I breast fed a bud all sweaty summer long and you made a water wonderland out of a kiddy pool and a hose. We felt like a family that year. The same year my mother left my father and I battled to decide if I should rescue the man who filled my childhood with empty things.

Sometimes it is a long wait to your first real Christmas.

The first Christmas we four packed up that cheery house and prepared to kiss its many memories for one last time you said, "We made it."

We swapped our rent for a mortgage.  And we wrapped up all that precious Home into velvet boxes in our hearts.

On the 23rd of Dec we are to move into a place where we can stay. A place were we can watch our boys run through childhood without the cares I knew. We are finally the Landlords. The King and Queen.  And the two little wild things in our kingdom are free to jump off their bunk beds and fill their boyhood pockets with treasures from a new backyard.

"Are you worried about anything?" I asked you.

"No."

"Nothing?"

"No."

This must be it... I waited for Christmas to fill my heart.

"But my sister?" I asked.

"We'll find her, you said.

"And my Dad?" I asked.

"Is not apart of who we are," you said.

I looked around at the packing tape and towers of boxes in echoing rooms. And I realized that I was home. Here, in the midst of Crazy. Here, on the edge of so many things I could be sad about. Here, surrounded by my future and the strength of the hands I hold. Little hands. And his hand. Oh, thank God for his hand. This first man who didn't yell at Christmas.

And it happened. Just like that. A tree in bud. My first real Christmas put down roots in my soul.

The first of many.

Sometimes it is a long wait to your first real Christmas.

Happy holidays to all my blogging mates. 

I hope your first real Christmas happened a long time before mine, but if you are still waiting then I pray you keep hoping. May Christmas find you where you are. Even in the midst of Crazy. Even if you are like me, with the echoes of Christmas Ghosts Past still to deal with. 

Have a wonderful Christmas with those who hold your hand. Be blessed by the hope you hold.

Merry Christmas. 

[I will see you guys again on the 31st of Dec. I can't resist one last post for the year:)]