The Most Magical Day of the Year

There was no snow. No matter. The weatherman had said there was a good possibility of some snow, but it was just a good possibility. Susan had hoped, but not really expected it. It was Christmas—the most magical day of the year! No snow; no problem. She glided out of bed, careful not to wake her husband, George.

He would sleep at least another hour. She couldn’t understand it. They’d been up late stuffing the grandkids’ stockings, but come on! This was Christmas. Once a year! She couldn’t wait to see their faces.

No one was up for another hour. At last Susan’s daughter, Jennifer, came downstairs, rubbing her eyes.

“The casserole will be ready in about twenty minutes,” said Susan, handing her a cup of coffee. “Should we get up the kids?”

“No,” said Susan, yawning. “It was a long day yesterday, with the service, and carols, and cookies. And everyone was up late watching the movie.”

“Yeah,” said Susan, turning to hide her disappointment. “I’ll make sure the cinnamon rolls are ready.”

An hour later, Susan watched with delight as her grandson and granddaughter bobbed around the table, snatching pieces of cinnamon roll and yammering loudly about nothing. Precious. But was she forgetting—was there something?—No, it eluded her.

George carved into a piece of the casserole he had reheated. He smiled. His black coffee steamed from one of their old Christmas mugs. A snowman on a sled with a red handle that got too hot. Susan smiled back, but with only her lips. It was magical, and yet…and yet…there was something missing. Something needed.

Music! Susan realized. She’d forgotten to put on Christmas music! She swiped at her phone and a few seconds later, Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas jangled through the dining room speaker. The grandkids talked louder.

Before long, the kids were clamoring to open stockings. It was beautiful chaos. Heaps of candy strewn across the floor. Mini stuffed animals, gum, crayons, and socks featuring woodland creatures. Red glowed everywhere and reflected off shiny plastic.

Susan’s own stocking was spilled across her lap, forgotten, as she soaked in her grandkids’ squeals of discovery. Beautiful. But…she was missing something. It was sliding through her hands. Pictures! She needed to be taking pictures of all of this. She felt sick. How could she have forgotten?

Susan scrambled around, crouching, gesturing, arranging.

“Up here! Smile! Smile! Can you show me? Can you show me the socks? No, no, both of you get the socks. George, can you tilt that chair to the side so that it’s not blocking the tree? Good, good.”

It was good, Susan thought, thumbing through the pictures. But not totally. She frowned.

They were unwrapping their second round of presents when it came on Susan again, stronger. You’re missing something. The routine was that everyone opened one present at the same time, then they’d all examine and praise each other’s gifts. Sweet. But it was slipping away, Susan thought. The sugar buzz had faded and the room had quieted. A dull energy was seeping in. This wasn’t right. The lighting—her candles!

First, she switched the tree lights to pulse mode. Much better. Gentler. Most of the living room candles were electric and on timers, but Susan had some real ones—red and green Christmas ones she always forgot to light. She remembered this time. She sat down and smiled. That was the subtle magic that would light the grandkids’ memories.

The pain persisted. Somehow the candles made it worse. Maybe it was too good? Susan wondered. Overly sweet? No, that wasn’t it. It was more of a hollowness, like opening a bag of chips. You know it’s half air, but when you look in, it’s always more empty than you imagine.

After lunch, Susan went to the living room to clean up. George had picked up all the wrapping paper. He had his feet up in his chair and was watching football with a Diet Dr. Pepper. Everyone else was in their rooms.

Susan walked to her pile of gifts. She’d gotten a new cookbook. The latest from her favorite chef. She thumbed through some of her breakfast ideas, looking for something she could try tomorrow. This is fun, she thought. She held up a cardigan with flowers and big buttons. Very nice. The grandkids had each given her a framed photo of their school picture. Really thoughtful.

It was over. It wasn’t even two-thirty. It couldn’t be over. There was something they should be doing.

“You’re watching football?” she asked George with irritation, deciding this was the problem.

“Sure.”

“Shouldn’t we watch a Christmas movie? Maybe start something?”

“Later,” George said. “Maybe tonight. Everyone wants to play with their gifts.”

Susan sat down with a sigh.

“I think we left something out. It feels shorter this year,” she said. “What did we miss?”

George chuckled and patted her hand. “You always feel this way. Everyone had a good time. Don’t worry, it’ll all come around next year.”

That was it, Susan thought with a little smile. Next year. Next year would be better. They’d do more.

This story was first published through Westminster Magazine

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If you’d like to know the reasoning and moral behind the story, read here through Westminster Magazine. You’ll find the explanatory essay at the bottom of the story.

Bonus Archive: The Right and Wrong Way to Keep Christ in Christmas

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