A Less Traditional Christmas Eve

Since I forgot to post yesterday, here I am on Christmas Eve. And so far, it hasn’t been a very merry one either. I went downstairs for breakfast only for my sister (who made some delicious waffles) to tell me that my grandmother had been rushed to the emergency room with a suspected stroke. She’s had dementia for a few years now, and in the past couple of months she’s had a few more health issues, but we had one of the pastors from our church pray for her on Wednesday and we had faith that things were going to get better again.

Christmas Eve is the day we always spent at our grandparents’ house. Granted, for as long as I can remember, they’ve lived within walking distance of us, so it wasn’t an all-day thing. But we would always to go their house, our car loaded up with cookies and presents, and we would celebrate together.

We had traditions. I can’t remember what a typical Christmas Eve would look like in terms of what happened when. But we would eat Christmas Eve dinner, and we would open presents–typical holiday fare. But then we had two things that made us different. Every year, I would learn a new Christmas song to play on the piano. And every year, we reenacted the Christmas story using some candles.

I think that the candles came before the piano solo, because we always set up the candles on the closed piano, and I think I remember the candles being already set up when we got there. The candle drama was simple. There was one candle for every major person in the Christmas story–Mary and Joseph, baby Jesus, the shepherds and angels and wise men. Someone would read from an old, discolored script, and someone else would light the candles as the person came into the story. Joseph was first, I believe. Then Mary and then Jesus and the shepherds and so on.

When the characters leave the story, the candles are extinguished. This was the first job I remember having–not reading fluently enough to read the entire script aloud and not being trusted with a lighter, my young child self was given a tool that I still think is interesting. A simple tin candle snuffer. I would put it over the candle flame until it died, deprived of oxygen.

Eventually I worked my way up to candle-lighter as well as candle-snuffer, and in recent years, it’s been my job to read the script. My sister is the one who lights and extinguishes candles. When all the candles except for Jesus have left the story, we sing “Silent Night.” And then we pack up the candles, I play my piano solo, and we go home, laden with gifts.

I don’t know what Christmas is going to look like this year. I don’t know when my grandmother will be discharged from the hospital, or if she’ll leave at all. She’s ready to go home and be with Jesus. I honestly don’t know what to feel. Both of my dad’s parents have passed away. When Grandpa Piazza died, I cried once, in the car on the way home from his wake. When Grandma Piazza died, I didn’t cry at all. I was never very close to either of them. But Grammy was like a second mother to me. She taught me how to sew, play piano, and crochet. She helped me learn how to read. One of my first memories is of her rocking me to sleep, singing “Jesus Loves Me,” and then putting me in a crib. I remember thinking that I was too old to be rocked to sleep, and I quite obviously didn’t fall asleep. But it’s a good memory.

I hope that the rest of you are having a merry Christmas. If you could send some prayers our way, please, we would really appreciate it. God bless you all, and merry Christmas!