The Christmas Star
This was my grandmother's first Christmas without grandfather,
and we had promised him before he passed away that we would
make this her best Christmas ever. When 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 on the beautiful artificial tree that was kept
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.
"Where's your star'" I asked.
The star was my grandmother's favorite part of the tree,
for it represented the star of Bethlehem that had led
the wise men to the infant Jesus.
"Why, it must be here somewhere," she said, starting to
sort through the boxes again. "Your grandfather always
packed everything so carefully when he took the tree
down."
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.
"Don't worry, Grandmother," I reassured her. "We'll find
it for you."
My sisters and I formed a search party.
"Let's start in on the closet where the ornaments were,"
Donna said. "Maybe the box just fell down."
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.
"I'll make you one from construction paper," Karen
chimed in.
"No," Grandmother said. "This year, we won't have a star."
By now, it was dark outside, and time for bed, since Santa
would soon be here. As we lay in bed, we could hear the sound
of snowflakes falling quietly outside.
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.
"From who'" There was surprise in my grandmother's voice.
"I found that gift in grandfather's closet when we got the
tree down," Mother explained. "It was already wrapped so
I put it under the tree. I thought it was one of yours."
"Hurry and open it," Karen urged excitedly.
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 up 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. Love,
Bryant."
So grandmother's tree had a star after all, a star that
expressed their everlasting love for one another. It brought
my grandfather home for Christmas in each of our hearts and
made it our best Christmas ever.
By Susan Adair
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