I can still remember my excitement every Thanksgiving, waking up to watch the Macy’s Day Parade while my mom cooked. My Aunt Peggy always helped, and I can still hear them laughing about how to cook a turkey. After dinner I would ask if Christmas decorating would start tomorrow. With a smile my mom and aunt always replied with, ‘Yes, Dani.’
In the center of our living room would be several bins filled with garland, mistletoe, lights and ornaments. As a child I handled shiny red bulbs carefully, aware that my butterfingers were prone to mishaps. Not a Christmas went by where I didn’t hear ‘Dani, be careful!’ after the sound of yet another one breaking.
We had three mirrors above our couch, and each was lined in gold. Somewhere hidden in those bins were sheets of peel-and-stick snowflakes and trees, one of my favorite decorations. I absolutely adored creating winter scenes while the adults hung ornaments on the tree. As I pressed each sheet onto the glass my aunt would occasionally glance over, smiling at my creation in the mirrors.
‘Good job, Dani.’
For a few moments our eyes would lock, and I realized just how much she loved me.
As time went on things changed. My mother remarried and my aunt moved over three hours away. Despite starting a family of her own she made time to visit her goddaughter. I often felt closer to her than some of my actual family members.
My last memory of her was at our new house, shortly before I moved out. She had come up for a few days before Christmas.
‘I found instructions on how to make macaroni angels,’ she said.
We couldn’t help but laugh at the silver colored rigatoni with a wooden ball for a head. With adult fingers I carefully painted on their faces.
‘Good job, Dani.’
A couple of years passed from her last visit up until her death with no contact, and we had no idea why. I mailed a letter prior to moving out that was never replied to, but working two jobs afforded me no time to wonder why. Perhaps she wanted to spend her last remaining years tending to her family, all the while trying to battle cancer. That would be understandable. After all, we were never actually related.
As a child Christmas was about presents; as an adult in this economy, it is about being with family. It’s usually just my parents and I, and decorating isn’t always done on Black Friday. Aside from a Santa from my aunt and set of carollers from my grandmother, my apartment isn’t decorated for the season. I just can’t justify spending the money when I live alone. But I do help my parents decorate their home. Every year several bins fill up in the living room, and the occasional bulb is still broken. But when my eyes see silver angels wrapped in bubble wrap, I pause. Very carefully I unwrap each one and hang them, tucking them back into the tree so that none can fall down. And after the last one is hung I step back and stare at their smiling faces.
‘Good job, Dani.’