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Some Christmases stay in our minds forever, no matter how old we get. My most memorable came in 1972 when I was fifteen. It was the first time I feared Christmas wouldn’t come…at least not in the way I’d always known.

On December 20th, a huge storm pounded our little town in Connecticut. Electricity was out almost everywhere. Ice coated power lines, branches and shrubbery, giving a surreal, frozen beauty to the world.

The morning after the storm, our family of five stood in our freezing living room. A huge tree had fallen on our property, dragging power and phone lines with it. We knew that didn’t bode well for Christmas. “What are we going to do? How will Santa Claus come?” asked my six year-old brother, in tears.

“We’ll figure it out,” said my father. “We’ll see what happens.” I could tell by the way he looked at my mom, he was worried.

At first, we tried staying put, sleeping in sleeping bags in front of the fireplace. My father stayed up all night, tending to the fire.

Finally, it became obvious we had to leave. The house was too frigid. Our kindly next-door neighbor took in my brother, sister, and me. My parents stayed at a local motel.

To our frustration, over the next few days, it seemed every other home got their electricity back, except ours. Because of that fallen tree, we were told it would take longer.

Two days before Christmas, there was still no power. School holiday break began, but it was hard feeling joyful. I came off the school bus that day, dejected. Around me, all the houses looked warm and inviting. Ours was dark.

Instead of heading to our neighbor’s, I entered our front door. It felt like visiting a sick friend. Everything that made our home warm and human and welcoming was gone.

Couches and chairs were cold to the touch. The air was chilly. Rooms were unlit. No water came from the kitchen sink. Our Christmas tree sat in the corner, decorated with colorful bulbs and tinsel, but lifeless. I even tried plugging the cord in for the tree lights, hoping for a miracle, but of course, they stayed off. I left, helpless and frustrated.

To not be home for Christmas was unthinkable, but that’s what we faced, probably trying to make the best of it in some motel room.

I went back to our neighbor’s that afternoon sad. What could we do? It was bad luck.

The next morning was Christmas Eve. I started to get out of bed when I heard a sound I never thought would warm my heart—chainsaws. I looked out the window to see a crew of utility guys working on the limbs of the tree in front of our house.

Unbeknownst to us kids, my father had gone to our town’s First Selectman, pleading our case. I don’t know what he said or how he said it, but it worked. I’m convinced if he hadn’t done that, the job would’ve waited.

Several hours later, my mother, sister, brother, and I stood in our cold house, waiting for power to return, when we heard that wonderful thump. The furnace started cranking. Water was available. And best of all, I could plug in our Christmas lights. Our house had become a home again.

We bustled about, putting gifts under the tree and getting ready for dinner. My father came home from work, bringing the usual bag of goodies he brought each year from his holiday office party—decorated cookies, hors d’oeuvres and candy. “Merry Christmas!” he said, coming in the door, his face wreathed in smiles. We all gave him a hug. “Merry Christmas!”

Everything tasted especially good that night.

Forty-six years have passed, but every time another Yuletide rolls around, I think of that Christmas. I think of how my father stayed up all night before the fireplace, trying to keep his family warm. I think of how he went to our First Selectman, asking for help. He was a proud man. That probably wasn’t easy.

Dad passed away two years ago from Parkinson’s disease at 82 years-old. Mom is still adjusting to life without him. We all are.

I realize now the greatest gift that year didn’t come from a store. The real gift was appreciating things I lived with everyday, but had taken for granted — a warm, cozy home, running water, and a refrigerator full of food. The real gift was having a family to share these simple pleasures.

I’ll never forget that storm of 1972. It coated our world in such icy splendor. But it also taught a Christmas lesson.

 

Do you have a memorable Christmas story? Comments are always welcome and if you like, please share. Thank you!

Comments(40)

  1. This was a beautiful story which really highlights what’s important to us at this time of year. Family! My father is failing fast, he also has Parkinson’s Disease and I’m worri d about how many Christmases he will have. I can understand your thoughts going to this particular Christmas every year – all the best to you.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Thanks so much, Debbie. I’m sorry about your Dad with Parkinson’s. All I can say is being there for him is the greatest gift. Happy Holidays!

  2. I love this! I had a memorable Christmas also in the 70’s – 1976, I was 8. I lived with my mother and twin brother. My parents were divorced and money was scarce. One night we came home to a hefty bag full of toys and treats. A Secret Santa visited us. We got games – I remember Candy Land in particular and Marshmallow Fluff. This bag was filled with the stuff of childhood dreams 70’s style. I have never forgotten that kind generous anonymous act and I make a point to pay it forward every year. Thanks for your lovely story and the reminder of what matters most. Deepest condolences on the loss of your father.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Bryce, Such an amazing story. What a kind, wonderful person to think of you and your family at Christmas. Its easy to get jaded in this world, but then you hear this.

  3. What an amazing story Laurie! It brought me to tears…It’s those unpredictable experiences that can suddenly change everything. Blessings, Laura Lee

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Laura Lee, Thanks so much. You’re right about the unpredictable things that can have the greatest impact. Have a wonderful Christmas…

  4. What a touching story. I teared up! As an adult a ‘white’ Christmas always worries me!

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Haralee, I live in CT and it occurred to me how we’ve never have been snowed out of a Christmas… knock on wood! Amazing.

  5. Beautiful story!

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Thanks so much, Bonnie!

  6. What a lovely story. You should look for an opportunity to submit it to Chicken Soup for next year! A very happy Christmas to you for this year!
    Dalene Reyburn guest posts on the topic, Christmas Every Day.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Shirley, What a great idea. I’ll make a note of that. Loved your “Thanksgiving” post. So very true. Commented.

  7. This is a wonderful narrative of courage, determination, hope, positivity. Yes, we have to remember all the sacrifices made by our parents to see us stand where we are today……thanks for sharing this Laurie…:)

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Anindya, Thanks so much. Still miss my Dad when Christmas rolls around…

  8. This post left me back in 90s. I still remember the Christmas we used to celebrate during those days. Some memories stay forever…evergreen.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Stephanie, So glad it resonated with you. Thank you for reading.

  9. Oh, applause applause for men with chainsaws:). And plumbers’ tools, electricians’ accoutrements–the whole bit. I often call them our unsung heroes–they always seem to be getting us out of jams!

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Kristine, I never thought I’d rejoice at that sound, but I did. Many times those men are life’s unsung heroes.

  10. Fabulous story and so true 🙂

      • Laurie Stone

      • 5 years ago

      Jacqueline, Thanks so much!

  11. Such a beautiful memory. Thanks for sharing it. Amazing how that one Christmas that was almost disastrous is the one you always think about.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 4 years ago

      Lauren, Yes, its always the ones that had the most emotion involved (good and bad), that are most memorable.

  12. This is such a beautiful story, Laurie!

      • Laurie Stone

      • 4 years ago

      Carol, Thank you!

  13. […] our minds forever, no matter how old we get. Laurie Stone of Musings, Rants, & Scribble’s most memorable came in 1972 when she was fifteen. It was the first time she feared Christmas wouldn’t come…at least not in […]

      • Laurie Stone

      • 4 years ago

      Wonderful, Carol! Thank you.

  14. Such a sweet story, Laurie. Life seemed so much simpler then, didn’t it? Your experience–and your memories of it–is a wonderful reminder of what this season is all about.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 3 years ago

      Roxanne, Thank you. All of life seemed simpler then, alas.

  15. Talk about the joy of Christmas…

      • Laurie Stone

      • 3 years ago

      Yes, Carol, it was!

  16. I have more memories of Christmas when my songs were young, but not many when I was. Happy Holidays

      • Laurie Stone

      • 3 years ago

      Antoinette, Children definitely up the ante at holiday time. Their joy makes for wonderful memories.

  17. It truly is the little things that matter the most.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 4 months ago

      Carol, So very true.

  18. Beautiful story. Wonderful that it all worked out for you and your family. poignant memories.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 3 months ago

      Meryl, My most memorable Christmas. So much could’ve gone wrong.

  19. You brought us back 46 years in this post, for real!

      • Laurie Stone

      • 3 months ago

      Carol, And still so vivid!

  20. I don’t know if we’re remembering the same storm but I remember a year in Connecticut when it was cold enough that the ground had frozen, then there were some warm days, not enough to thaw out the ground but warm enough to rain a ton. My neighbor’s side yard, which was lower than the land his house was on, filled with water. There was no where for it to go because the ground was frozen. Then the temperature dropped again and another storm came through and his little “pond” froze. We got to skate on it all winter. I believe that might have been 1972 but could possibly have been 1970 or 71 because I was in that 8, 9, or 10 age range.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 3 months ago

      Jennifer, I think this one was 1974 since I was a senior in high school. In those days we had some real humdingers for storms, like the one you describe. Much less nowadays.

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