The Spirit of Christmas
As I was making my way back home from the grocery store, all Christmas Eve goods in hand, my nose caught something in the air. I inhaled the sweet, sweet smell of different kinds of fried food. The decorations looked delightful in the night air and the children knocking on doors to carolling reminds me over and over that it’s the Christmas season once again.
It’s been much of a rough year, but my heart leaps with joy every time I hear the word “Christmas”. Christmas means presents, carolling, decorating, and celebrating Christ’s birthday of course, it means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. But for my family, Christmas means another chance for us to get together without much of a yell of irritation from them. No bickering, no disappointments, no problems, no issues for a day. All of these happen in just one day, Christmas.
Whenever this season comes, I try to make the best of it. I enjoy the moments I spend with my family.
As I was nearing my house, I felt somewhat different. Like the spirit of Christmas hasn’t yet taken its toll on me. I keep wondering what’s different. I keep asking myself and trying to pinpoint exactly what changed this year. I keep ending up with nothing. The same thing goes on. The food preparations, the presents, they’re all there.
Except... I’m different. I don’t feel excited. I’m not expecting much of anything to happen even when I want to. I want to push myself to jump with joy at the thought of Christmas but I can’t push myself.
“Hey, why the long face, buddy?” my aunt asks. I smile at her while we’re making hot cocoa.
“It’s nothing, I just... I feel different.”
“Like something’s missing, right?” I look up at her.
“Exactly. I don’t know what, though.” I go back to crushing the nuts.
She smiles, but it’s a sad smile. She looks down at the pot of hot cocoa and stares at it for a second too long. “I miss your granddad.”
Then it strikes me. My grandfather. It was him. He was missing. For the past ten years, we’ve been missing him. And for the past ten years everything had been different.
He was always the Santa Claus of our Christmas. He was always the one who kept our family’s hope and faith strong. He was the one who always kept us together, no matter what the situation was.
My family always looked up to my grandfather. He was a kind and wise man. Not one of the thirteen members of my family remembered him as otherwise. And I admire him. I’ve always admired him. I’ve known him when I was just a kid. I’ve also known him better through stories I hear from my family.
What I’m sure of is he is a great father. He will provide for you when you need it, but will also let you learn to be independent on your own. He is a wise and generous man; I’ve been told many times that no man has ever left this house to seek for help, empty-handed. He will always have something of himself left upon your heart. You will always be reminded of his personality, that intimidating yet hard-to-forget personality. He would make you laugh especially when you need it. And of everything I know of him, one thing is for sure. He will always have your back, he will never leave you alone, he will always be there, and you will feel that you are loved. He will save you when you are slowly on the verge of giving up, and when you are on top of everything again, he will still be there, beaming at you, telling you how proud he is.
He is the person that my family needs. But he’s gone. He’s been gone for a long time and I cannot count how many times this family has cried for him to still be here. I cannot fathom the agony we all have felt when the Lord took him from us. He completes us and now that he’s not here, I am only realizing now that he is what we need to be whole again.
That is why every year that followed after he left us, I never realized that the excitement I had for Christmas was slowly fading away. But still I was hopeful. I was hopeful for another year that we can call Christmas, well, Christmas again.
“I wish he didn’t have to go so early...” was all I could muster.
“That’s just not how the world goes, dear.” I nod and try to find something different to do.
“Asan ‘yung kape ko?” I turn around to the voice I hear. It’s my mother. And I can’t help but quiver every time I hear those words. Coffee. My granddad couldn’t go a day without coffee even if it was bad for him.
“No coffee today, mom.” I said then went to help set the table.
Most of us sat in silence as we waited for the others to arrive.
“Hurry up! We’re all hungry!” shouts my mother.
“Well y’all can eat if you want!” my aunt.
“We’re going to eat together, you hear?!”
I can’t help but close my eyes in frustration. Shouldn’t we be having a nice conversation? It’s Christmas so why do I feel the tension in the air starting to suffocate me?
This is not how I expected this year’s Christmas to be.
We ate in peace, someone sharing a story now and then and someone laughing. A few “pass the soda,” “get the glasses,” and “eat some more” phrases were heard. But other than that, it felt like a normal dinner that my family has.
A few moments after cleaning, everyone retreated to each of their quarters like there’s nothing better to do. I was sad again.
And then I realize...
What would we be doing if my grandfather was here? Where would be right now if he wasn’t gone from our lives ten years ago?
I wanted to know but I couldn’t get answers. Prayer was the only thing I had so I did – over and over again until I asked all my questions. The reason for Christmas, the birth of Jesus Christ, meant the world to us. But ever since that day my grandfather died, the spirit of our own Christmas died with him.