Christmas Star

When my mom, dad, three sisters and I arrived at her little house in
the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, we found she had waited
up all night for us to arrive from Texas. After we exchanged hugs,
Donna, Karen, Kristi and I ran into the house. It did seem a little
empty without Grandfather, and we knew it was up to us to make this
Christmas special for her.

Grandfather had always said that the Christmas tree was the most
important decoration of all. So we immediately set to work assembling
the beautiful artificial tree that was stored in Grandfather’s
closet.  Although artificial, it was the most genuine-looking Douglas
fir I had ever seen. Tucked away in the closet with the tree was a
spectacular array of ornaments, many of which had been my father’s
when he was a little boy. As we unwrapped each one, Grandmother had a
story to go along with it.

My mother strung the tree with bright white lights and a red button
garland; my sisters and I carefully placed the ornaments on the tree;
and finally, Father was given the honor of lighting the tree.
We stepped back to admire our handiwork. To us, it looked
magnificent, as beautiful as the tree in Rockefeller Center. But
something was missing.

“Where’s your star?” I asked.

The star was my grandmother’s favorite part of the tree.

“Why, it must be here somewhere,” she said, starting to sort through
the boxes again.

“Your grandfather always packed everything so carefully when he took
the tree down.”

As we emptied box after box and found no star, my grandmother’s eyes
filled with tears. This was no ordinary ornament, but an elaborate
golden star covered with colored jewels and blue lights that blinked
on and off.

Moreover, Grandfather had given it to Grandmother some fifty years
ago, on their first Christmas together. Now, on her first Christmas
without him, the star was gone, too.

“Don’t worry, Grandmother,” I reassured her. “We’ll find it for you.”
My sisters and I formed a search party.

“Let’s start in the closet where the ornaments were,” Donna said.
“Maybe the box just fell down.”

That sounded logical, so we climbed on a chair and began to search
that tall closet of Grandfather’s. We found Father’s old yearbooks
and photographs of relatives, Christmas cards from years gone by, and
party dresses and jewelry boxes, but no star.

We searched under beds and over shelves, inside and outside, until we
had exhausted every possibility. We could see Grandmother was
disappointed, although she tried not to show it.

“We could buy a new star,” Kristi offered.

“I’ll make you one from construction paper,” Karen chimed in.
“No,” Grandmother said. “This year, we won’t have a star.”

By now, it was dark outside, and time for bed, as Santa would soon be
here. We lay in bed, snowflakes falling quietly outside.

The next morning, my sisters and I woke up early, as was our habit on
Christmas Day–first, to see what Santa had left under the tree, and
second, to look for the Christmas star in the sky. After a
traditional breakfast of apple pancakes, the family sat down together
to open presents.

Santa had brought me the Easy-Bake Oven I wanted, and Donna a Chatty-
Cathy doll. Karen was thrilled to get the doll buggy she had asked
for, and Kristi to get the china tea set. Father was in charge of
passing out the presents, so that everyone would have something to
open at the same time.

“The last gift is to Grandmother from Grandfather,” he said, in a
puzzled voice. “From who?” There was surprise in my grandmother’s
voice.

“I found that gift in Grandfather’s closet when we got the tree down,”
Mother explained. “It was already wrapped so I put it under the tree.
I thought it was one of yours.”

“Hurry and open it,” Karen urged excitedly. My grandmother shakily
opened the box. Her face lit up with joy when she unfolded the tissue
paper and pulled out a glorious golden star. There was a note
attached. Her voice trembled as she read it aloud: