Ladies and gentlebeings , I come to you with a confession : Christmas is a very difficult time for me . I lost my adopted little sister Rain to a car accident on Christmas day , and the absence of my late-fiancée Raven ( who was killed by a drunk driver a year and a half earlier ) only makes the loneliness more pronounced .
Despite this overlay of sadness , I still love Christmas . I love the feeling of joy and nostalgia it creates . I ' ve always felt that the imagery of snowbound homes lit with bright lights , redolent of Christmas dinner and filled with happiness and , at least ostensibly , peace on earth , is a powerful thing .
Perhaps you feel that this is nothing more than an idealized Norman Rockwell painting , a myth created by a million Christmas movies , and nowhere near representative of real life . You may think that the holiday season is a time for driving yourself to distraction . If you ' re like many people , you ' ll spend much of that time decrying the " commercialism " of Christmas , as if it were some sort of outside force , compelling folks to roam department stores like zombies , trying to find the perfect item for Uncle Joe or Aunt Martha .
The trouble is , it ' s all a pile of tinsel-laden nonsense .
Commercialism is , and has always been , a participatory sport . Holidays become commercialized because we decide that they are . We spend the months prior to the holiday period shopping , spending far more than is necessary or even viable on trinkets and baubles to satisfy a perceived sense of obligation . " Well I have to get them SOMETHING for Christmas ..."
If I may be so gauche , my dear and long suffering reader , allow me to share a short tale about one particular Christmas I spent some years ago . I share it only to provide an alternate view of Christmas gift giving . Your mileage may vary .
I was in Boston at my fiancée ' s parent ' s home , spending the holiday with my new family . That alone was an experience that moved me ( literally ) to tears , but that story will have to wait for it ' s own missive .
At the time I was working at KFC , and could barely afford to get to Boston , much less buy Christmas gifts . Despite reassurances from Raven and her sister , I felt a deep sense of guilt that I was unable to " do my part " in the gift giving , especially since this was mine and Raven ' s first Christmas together .
I felt as if I was letting her down , and the feeling stayed with me right up until the day before
Christmas Eve , when I decided I had to do something .
Inspiration and creativity ( mixed with a little desperation ) took hold .
On the evening of the 24th , I was in the living room with Raven , her sister Rain and their parents , enjoying homemade eggnog ( if you ' ve never had homemade eggnog , you ' ve not truly lived ) and chatting while soft Christmas music played in the background . The scene was idyllic , like something out of a holiday special . There was no snow falling , but outside a fresh layer of white powder coated every surface .
At a subtle glance from me , Rain smiled slightly and went to the window , apparently drawn there by something she spotted through the sheer curtains .
"... the hell ?" she muttered incredulously . " Raven , come here and look at this ."
Puzzled , Raven rose from her place at my side and moved to the window .
I watched my fiancée carefully , my heart hammering in my
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