On my facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/theauthorJustine) and Instagram, I’ve been telling my stories of family traditions, of what my parents did when I was a child, and the traditions I’ve carried on with, teaching my own children the important things in life.
And I've come to understand that tradition is important. Over the last 100 years, many people have thrown tradition out, but especially family traditions, bring a continuation from one generation to the next. It tells a family story that is sometimes generations old. I know some of the traditions I have are certainly at least four generations old. Grandmother, to mother, to me, to my children.
And it is one tradition in particular, that grounds me, roots me solidly to my mother.
The one last tradition she performed with love and deep joy for the last time when I was 18.
I was awake when Mum crept quietly into my room to pin my Christmas stocking to my bed so I would find it in the morning. Just as she had all my life.
“Hello Santa,” I whispered to her.
She looked smugly guilty, caught being the essence of love.
It was the last Christmas stocking I ever got from my mother. The next Christmas I played Santa for my younger siblings, for my mother had gone home to Jesus.
If only I had known this would be the last Christmas I would have with her. Would I have feasted my eyes on my beloved mother, rather than gifts or food? Yes, of course I would.
So, this Christmas, look at those around you and love them. Notice those who aren’t there and go and make your peace with them. The rest of your life is too long to live with regrets. Pride is no comfort.
I HONOUR my father and my mother, that all will go well with me, and I will live a good, long, joy-filled life.
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