Christmas Story for 2025

“Beginning to Look Like Christmas…  Again!”

By: Candilyn 

My favorite Christmas story is one Mom has never wanted to read when I was kid.  Merry Un-Christmas is about a little girl named Noelle. She lives in a town where it’s Christmas every day but one and that’s her favorite day of the year. I love it because I feel that I live Noelle’s life.

Thank goodness Mom doesn’t make me open gifts everyday like Noelle. But close enough for me. Around the 25^th of every month I am woken up by Mom jumping onto my bed declaring like a big kid, “Merry Christmas Gwenie!”

Things didn’t go like that this time. I wasn’t at home. I kind of exploded on Mom last night when we opened our Christmas Eve present. It was my first day of high school and it was a disaster because I was the kid of the Crazy Christmas Lady. I hate small towns. Mom wouldn’t come out of her Crazy Christmas Cocoon to be normal for me. Ever since I was six she actually thinks Christmas is right around the corner.

If it wasn’t for Aunt Meghan handling my real life Mom would’ve been sent away and I wouldn’t be living with her.

Before I ran out of the house Aunt Meghan same thing she’s been saying every time I get mad at Mom, “If we play along, she will come out of it eventually.”

“Play along?” Mom questioned.

“It’s been eight years! Get real Aunt Meghan!” I hollered.

I took the car. I made it a few blocks before I got stuck in a pot hole. One tire was in the hole and another tire had a caution cone stuck under it.

The only park in town was across the street. I went and sat on the swing and cried.

It was August in Arizona. Everyone was inside until the sun went down. I was alone.

“Gwen Reid?” asked a familiar voice.

I look up to see the new girl from school, Katie Mulligan. She was there with her dad, the new preacher at the big church just outside of town.

“Is that your car?” Mr. Mulligan asked.

I nod.

“Did you drive it?” Katie asked.

I nod.

Mr. Mulligan and Katie sat on the swings on either side of me.

We sat there in silence. I wasn’t going to talk.

“Is everything okay at home?” Mr. Mulligan asked.

I get out of the swing and start hitting the old and rusty tetherball.

Mr. Mulligan came over and started to play tetherball with me.

“Is  Eileen Reid your mom?” he asks.

“Yes,” I mutter.

“I grew up with your parents.”

“Grand.”

“Is she still crazy about Christmas?” he asks lightly.

I hit the ball so hard Mr. Mulligan has to duck.

“Dad,” Katie says hesitantly, “Gwen’s mom is that lady Reverend Peters told you about.”

“Ah…” Mr. Mulligan mutters. He catches the tetherball and asks me, “Gwen, can I talk to your mom?”

“You want to see the freak show too?” I snap.

“I just want to help my best friend’s wife,” he said, and added when I gave him a doubtful glare, “We lost touch after I joined the Navy.”

“No one can talk sense into her,” I tell him, “It’s been eight years. She doesn’t want to change. Not even for me. When my dad died in that car crash Mom lost it. Christmas’s the only thing that’s keeping her from depression.”

“You want things to stay like this?” he asked.

“Of course not!”

“Let me try. I know your dad wouldn’t want this for you.”

I call Aunt Meghan on my cell phone. “I’ll be home tomorrow. I’m spending the night at Katie Mulligan’s house. Her dad is the new preacher at Journey to Christ Church.”

“That guy?” Aunt Meghan exclaimed, “He tried to chew your mom out for her ‘blatant display of commercialism of Christmas.”

“This is a different guy,” I tell her. “He wants to talk to Mom tomorrow. He says he was friends with my parents.”

“Your parents only had each other and one other friend,” Aunt Meghan said.

“His name is Joshua Mulligan,” I say quickly.

Aunt Meghan stays silent then says, “Let him come over.”

The Mulligans took me to school and picked me up as well. I was silent as Mr. Mulligan drove and talked to Katie about her day. I kept hoping for a flat tire. But fifteen minutes later Katie, Mr. Mulligan, and I stood in front of my house with its sun-bleached Christmas decorations. Katie linked her arm in mine and gave me a kind smile. Part of me was grateful and part of me felt pitied and I wanted to punch her. Mr. Mulligan knocked on the door. Aunt Meghan answered.

She had on her unreadable pleasant smile that made it hard to read whether it was happy to see you or not. She and I had lots of practice putting on fake smiles for Mom.

“Well, well, well Joshua Mulligan…” she said.

Mr. Mulligan goes a bit pale. For a moment he looked like a nervous high school boy.

“Not a word from you since the army took you away,” Aunt Meghan continued.

“Navy actually,” Mr. Mulligan corrected.

“What makes you think you can reach my sister when the rest of us can’t?”

“I don’t know for sure. But I want to try,” Mr. Mulligan said timidly, “Eileen was the best of us and shouldn’t be living this delusion.”

“Correction, she is the best.” And Aunt Meghan stepped back to let him in.

We found Mom sitting next to our Christmas tree actually putting ornaments away. Her eyes were red and puffy. She somehow looked ten years older without that Christmas cheer.

I sat on the opposite side of the room right on a Christmas decorative pillow.

Mr. Mulligan sat in the rocker in front of Mom. He looked her in the eye and said, “Long time no see, Eileen.”

Mom looked at him, giving him the, “Who are you?” stare. Then she remembered, “Josh!”  They both stood and hugged each other.

“Sorry for the years of silence,” he said.

“Life gets away from everyone for a time,” Mom said. She seems to have forgiven her old friend as if he hasn’t called in a month and not over a decade. Mom is nice like that.

They sit back and begin a catch-up chat. For a bit Mom looked normal, not caught up in her Christmas delusion.

Then it all went away when Mr. Mulligan said, “Gwen looks a lot like Reggie.”

Once he mentioned my dad’s name, I saw that shift in Mom’s face and her eyes sadden again for a moment and then replaced by her Christmas shield.

She smiled, “It’s so nice that you moved home at Christmas.”

Mr. Mulligan’s smile was gone too.

“Eileen,” he said carefully. I knew what he was about to say. Aunt Meghan shook her head from behind Mom. “It’s August.”

Mom looked mad. This happens every time anyone tries to pull her out of her delusion. Tension in the room increased. It felt like I was in the deep end of a pool and couldn’t get out.

“Not you too Josh…” Mom muttered and she began to unpack the ornaments and put them back up on the tree.

Mr. Mulligan scooted closer to Mom, took the ornament from her and held her hand in his. He looked her straight in the eye with the most caring, concern, love-filled look any friend could give. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you when Reggie died. I’m sorry that you felt so alone again that you needed to retreat behind this…. Make believe world.”

“I don’t believe in Santa like a little kid. I believe in Christmas and all the good it can do in the world,” Mom said sharply. She was crying again, but she didn’t pull away from Mr. Mulligan.

“I know Christmas always meant a lot to you,” he began, “It was the only time you got attention and care as a foster kid. But… this kind of Christmas is just meaningless fluff without the real reason.”

“Christmas isn’t meaningless!”

“Then why do we celebrate it?”

“You know why! You’re the preacher!”

“Tell me.” Mr. Mulligan didn’t shout or sound angry. He was firm and calm, and his care never left his eyes. “Tell me why it means so much to the world. To you.”

“We are…” Mom faltered, “Everyone is celebrating…”

“Who?”

Silence.

“I know you’ve always loved Christmas.” Mr. Mulligan began again. It looked like he was taking a new tactic. “Those ugly sweaters. Making Reggie and I go caroling. Cookies for all the teachers in ninth grade.” Mom was smiling but crying. “I remember helping Reggie set up Christmas lights Thanksgiving Break Senior Year so he could propose to you.”

Mom smiled at the memory. She even let out a small laugh as she said, “You two made the whole street have a blackout with all those lights.”

“Who did that?” Mr. Mulligan said with a searching expression.

Caught up in the memory Mom said, “The two of you! You and… Reggie.”

Just the sound of Dad’s name brought her down again. I couldn’t tell if Mr. Mulligan was making progress or not, but he didn’t give up.

She didn’t snap out of it that day—as much as I was hoping for a sudden return back into reality. I guess real healing takes time.

It was like Mr. Mulligan was leading her from a dark room into the bright outdoors. At first, she didn’t want to come feel and see all that sunshine—it was too much for her. Then Aunt Meghan or Mr. Mulligan had to give her an extra shove. I watched all this without comment or encouragement going back and forth from hopeful to doubtful.

The biggest turning point for Mom’s return to reality was when Katie invited us to church in October, claiming, “My dad has this EPIC sermon planned! You got to hear it!”

We sat in the front row of their church. With twenty rows of people behind us it felt like everyone was staring at us.

After a song sung by the people there, Mr. Mulligan walked up some steps onto a stage and spoke out to everyone, “Merry Christmas!”

Everyone looked confused.

 Mom tenses up.

I glare at Katie who whispered, “Wait for it.”

Mr. Mulligan laughed and continued, “Why do we only say that once a year? The word Christmas is a combination of the words Christ’s Mass. And Mass is the Catholic’s time for church. Isn’t Christ, Jesus, the Messiah, the Savior supposed to be what church is about—what the center of our lives are supposed to be about?

“Why not talk about his birth all year? Christmas is about Jesus’s birthday. I’m okay if people talk about me more than once or twice a year. I’m okay if people are glad that I was born more than on my birthday. I’m sure the Savior of the World is the same. After all he’s more important than me. I’ve never saved anyone—except maybe that turtle I found crossing the road last month.”

He let everyone chuckle at that before he continued, “I have this dear friend of mine. She lives and breathes Christmas all the time. I almost didn’t want to bring her out of her revelries.”

Mom was blushing and teary-eyed. She kind of looked ashamed.

“She wished everyone a Merry Christmas all the time! She had this cheery spirit every day. She carries that Christmas Spirit with her all year long. Then I saw that the depth of her celebrations was only scratching the surface of Christmas. I didn’t want to change her… No… I wanted to help her dig a little deeper.

“I still want to be like my friend. She is that Christmas Spirit we need to have with us, kind, caring, charitable, patient, long-suffering. That Christmas Spirit is Christ’s spirit, his way of living. We need to have that spirit within us; have that be us! So, be bold and caring! Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” We all cheered.

Everyone applauded. Except Mom she was sobbing. Mr. Mulligan came down from the stage, and they gave each other the biggest hug.

On the drive home Mom was silent. When we were parked in the driveway Mom turned off the car and just sat there. It looked like she was weighed down with many thoughts.

I was about to leave her to think when she spoke, “Gwen…”

I stopped, halfway out of the car.

“I’m sorry… for…” she gestured to the half put away outdoor Christmas decorations.

I always thought I needed some long apology from Mom, but when the time came, I realized that’s not what I really wanted or needed.

“I love you Mom,” I say, “I get it.”

We hug. It was a real hug. Not a fake thank you hug for a gift I didn’t want. A real, I want to show I care hug.

By the time Thanksgiving Break came, I was filled with fear that Mom would revert to old ways. Mom’s Christmas Delusion had her putting Christmas decorations up during what she thought was Thanksgiving Break.

I dreaded coming home from school for Thanksgiving Break. I was worried that I would find that Mom had pulled all the Christmas decorations back out—the same that we got her to put away only a month ago.

I got off the bus to see all our worn to the bone Christmas decorations in a heap in and around the trashcan ready for trash day tomorrow. I didn’t know whether to be sad or excited.

I opened the front door and walked inside to find Mom baking pies for Thanksgiving. I almost cried. Instead, I ran over and gave Mom a bear hug.

“What’s this for?” she asks with a laugh.

I shrug and say, “Just excited for Thanksgiving.”

We had Aunt Meghan and her family over for Thanksgiving—the first one we had since Dad died. It was just like the Thanksgivings my friends had talked about; too much food and people playing football out back. I even got to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade.

At the end of the parade when Santa finished it all off riding in the float of a fake sleigh and Reindeer I turn to Mom and ask, “Hey, when December starts can we get some new Christmas decorations?”

Mom gave a small smile and said, “You can pick out whatever you like.”

Even though we set up to have Christmas at home we got invited to my dad’s brother, Uncle Rodney, and his family for Christmas. Ever since Mom’s obsession took over our lives, they had kept their distance.

During our visit she talked about real life, her past with me and everyone. Something she never did before. I heard stories about Dad that mom never told me. I hadn’t smiled this much in years. I savored it all. It brought a lightness in my heart. It was better than any gift I got that year or any before or I think I will ever get.

 

THE END

December 15th

 Who’s Got the Button? 

In Memory of Becky Carlson 

 

It’s interesting what makes me cry while pregnant. This time it’s a box of buttons. 

Instead of letting Mom’s box of buttons collect dust, I’ve been finding ways to use them. This Christmas I’m attempting to be creative by making homemade Christmas cards. It’s a slow process of gluing her buttons one by one on each card trying to get the random sizes to make the shape of a Christmas tree.  I don’t want this project to look like a child’s school art project. 

As I’m finishing this project, I looked in the box to find that I could see the bottom of it. Maybe 20 or so remain. Realizing that I neared the end of my mom’s buttons brought tears to my eyes. I had to do my best not to outright bawl at the dining room table where anyone in the family could walk in on me.  

My logical side was calling my emotional side a fool, but that didn’t stop the tears from welling up. It felt like my mom was gone again. A series of thoughts began to swirl in my head. 

My goal was to use up the buttons.  Did I want the buttons gone? They’re just buttons. Who did I give the buttons to? Does it matter? Would they treasure them? If they didn’t what was I going to do? Take them back? 

I shake my head to pull myself from circling further down that thought process. 

As I wiped the tears away, I looked at the cards I was making and saw how pretty they are. The golden buttons on top looked like a star tree topper. The colorful buttons were like the ornaments on my own tree that stood in my view in the living room. While I sat surrounded by my project at the dining room table can see that I’m surrounded by Christmas at this moment.  

I can see the kids’ Christmas art projects, garland around the doorways, poinsettias, and a wreath over the fireplace. I can hear holiday music playing. I breathe in the smell of the pine-scented candles. My eyes stop on the nativity set I inherited from my mom after she… 

I wasn’t just surrounded by Christmas. I see my mom everywhere. I see her ornaments hanging on the tree. I can see her in the smiles of my kids in their pictures. I can see some of my mom’s buttons on a picture frame my kids made, and on a decorative pillow she made. 

Then a line in the Bible came to me; “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” 

This scripture wasn’t talking about my mom, but it was Mom who first taught me about Him. I can feel His love for me more easily because I knew my mom’s love for me. 

A smile then came across my face and a warmth filled my heart. 

Just because Jesus died never meant he was gone either. Just because he left the world after his resurrection didn’t mean he left us without comfort or left us alone. 

He put so much love out into the world that it echoes about even today. Even though Mom and I put out all those buttons into the world, she lovingly gathered, doesn’t mean they are gone. It doesn’t mean she’s gone. 

In the midst of gathering decorations, she is here. In the midst of making these cards to reach out to people, she is here. In the midst of gathering for this holiday, He is here just as much as she is.  And it doesn’t matter how many buttons go, or how much love I give I’ll never be alone or without comfort. 

 

THE END 

December 13th

 Christmas Stars 

For Jon Young 

 

Who wants their birthday on Christmas? Last time I checked… No one. Who wants to celebrate my birthday with me? Last time that happened was right after I won an Oscar. Right before my stroke. And who wants to be around a washed-up Hollywood leading man on Christmas or on his birthday? No one. The world has a short memory. This fact used to hurt more than it does now. Today, on my 78th birthday, it’s more like a dull ache that blends in with my arthritis. It was this that brought me to this lonely café on a Christmas afternoon. “Your usual table Mr. Yeoman?” Casey, the owner of the café, was barely in her thirties and full of life. I spend every holiday here and any other day I don’t want to feel the pain of my loneliness and my ruined fame.

“Yes…” I sighed, “By the window.” “Your usual dessert?” Casey has never been in front of a camera, but her café is more famous than either one of us. Her Great Grandfather started it when Hollywood was known as Hollywoodland. I nodded and not long later Casey brought me a sweet bun topped with a towering pile of cream. “The best semlor outside of Sweden,” I said, a small smile escaping me. I was about to ask Casey to join me, but another customer came in. The only other one besides me. He was a tall young man, if I was standing, I’d look small next to him. He looked as miserable as I felt. “He’s early,” Casey muttered. “Another usual?” Casey nodded, “Every Christmas, but he never speaks beyond ordering.” Casey goes to attend to the young man, and I stare out the window, looking at the best Christmas scene Southern California has to offer: palm trees covered in lights, fake snow on windows and special holiday deals advertised all over the place. The few people not celebrating were walking about alone or with a few other people as if unaware that today was a holiday. “Excuse me…” The voice surprised me. I had forgotten there was anyone else here. I turned to see that the tall young man who had just come in was sitting at a table across from me. He was looking right at me. He had a hot drink in his hand. I thought maybe he needed me to pass him some sugar or something. “Are the semlor any good?” He asked in a thick Swedish accent. I only knew it was Swedish because he sounded like my uncle. “The best outside of Sweden,” I said, “A lot like the way my mother made them.” “You Swedish too?” the man asked. “Part,” I explain, “My mother is from Sweden and my father is Scottish.” The man nodded approvingly. Just then Casey came over and asked the man, “What will it be Emil?” “I will be daring today and finally try a semla,” Emil declared. “About time!” Casey gave him her warm smile that made people forget they were lonely. “I’ve been telling you for ages to try it.” “Not that I don’t trust you I needed a second…” “You didn’t trust me,” Casey said playfully. She gave him a wink and returned not long later with an identical semla for Emil. We sat in silence as we enjoyed our semlor. It was an awkward silence, at least for me. I used to enjoy the silence here. Here I could forget everything. Now, I feel obligated to have a conversation. Was I obligated? He seemed to be just as lonely as I was. Why else would he be here on Christmas? What do I say? It’s been years since I’ve had a genuine conversation with someone. Back then I usually talked about myself. That’s all people wanted me to do- talk about me and the movies I was making. I finally was daring as said, “God Jul!” Emil looked up from his phone and smiled, “God Jul, min vän!” My Swedish was rusty but I think he called me friend. When I didn’t respond Emil said in English, ”You don’t know much Swedish?” I let out an embarrassed laugh and admit, ”I’m rusty. I haven’t used it since I did that movie about Alfred Noble... That was...” I stopped to calculate, ”Over twenty years ago.” ”You an actor?” ”Was,” I corrected, ”No one wants to see this face on screen anymore.” Emil was staring at me as if trying to place my face, ”...Hal Yeoman?” ”I’m surprised anyone under forty would know me,” I muttered. ”I thought you looked familiar!” Emil sounded excited now, ”You said you were in Noble my brain put it together.” ”You saw it? I thought everyone wanted to forget that movie... I know I do...” ”It was not your best work, but your Swedish was flawless!” I couldn’t help but smile. ”Why are you here alone?” Emil asked. ”Don’t movie stars have endless parties?” I let out a laugh, ”I told you I was a movie star. No one has time for a washed-up actor.” ”Because of your stroke?” ”Why are you here?” I asked quickly, ”A young man with a lot of future ahead of him. Where are you family or friends? Shouldn’t you be playing the part of Tomten for your kids or nieces and nephews?” Emil’s face darkened and he went back to his Semlor. ”I’m really busy... I don’t have time for that.” We didn’t say anything for a time but just picked at our desserts. ”Busy doing what?” I asked suddenly. ”Huh?” ”You said you were too busy to do the Christmas thing...” ”I didn’t say I was too busy to do... I don’t have... Forget.. I should go.” Emil started to stand when I said quickly. ”And do what?” He paused in mid-stand. ”Humor an old man.” Emil sat down. ”What don’t you have time for?” I repeated. I watched Emil stab his semlor a few times as if his dessert had offended him. ”Why don’t you have time for all that stuff right now?” Emil glared at his dessert and said to it, ”Because no one had time for me.” I sat there and waited for him to explain. I knew it wasn’t easy to spill years of resentment to a stranger. “You know the worst day to have a birthday?” I still didn’t speak, but let him go, ”It’s Christmas. Every year my birthday got rolled into Christmas... and you know how big Christmas is in Sweden.” I nodded understandingly. ”I was unimportant to my family... just one of the kids... another mouth to feed. So, I left Sweden to unburden them of my presence as soon as I could.” I debated over my words. I took a bite of my dessert to buy myself some time. Emil wasn’t going to like what I needed to say. When I finished my bite I said, ”I get it... families aren’t always easy to deal with.... but the thing is... you aren’t important.” ”What?” ”You need to learn this now before you learn the hard way like I did,” I could feel my stomach tighten. I needed to hear this as much as I needed to give it, “When I was at my prime as an actor... on the wish list of many women... the envy of men... the winner of awards... I thought I was really someone... I had it all...” I paused, the memories laying heavy me me, “But I lost it all as soon as I had those strokes. My health? Gone. My good looks? Gone. My fame? Gone. All those movies I made are now in thrift stores or discount bins. Barely anyone remembers me. If I’m lucky Lifetime will do a cautionary tale about my life after I die.” ”Are you trying to cheer me up or make me more depressed?” I let out a short laugh, “Life isn’t a Hallmark or Disney movie. There isn’t a magical fix that erases problems. It’s messy and people are imperfect. You need to know that now... you have more time than I do. I learned this too late in life.” “The world will tell you how amazing you are, then drop you like a giant New York rat as whenever they want. When I had my strokes... I learned real quick how unimportant I am. ” ”What about your friends and family?” Emil inquired. ”I left them all in the dust in my climb to stardom,” I said with a heavy sigh, ”With ex-wives and friends as shallow as I was. There wasn’t a person sorry to see me go... and fans... they went off to the next name in lights.” “Sounds depressing...” I nodded and said, “It was for a long time... especially on Christmas with no one around to celebrate or to wish me a happy birthday.” Emil’s eyebrows furrowed, he looked shocked and a bit confused. But I didn’t let him say anything. “Then one Christmas and birthday I came to my favorite cafe to celebrate alone only to find out that someone had sent another just as lonely as I am and just as bitter as I used to be about sharing the limelight of my birthday.” “Today is your birthday too?” Emil asked in shock. I nodded, “For the past seventy-eight years.” “That’s a crazy coincidence!” “I don’t believe in coincidences.” Emil leaned back, folding his arms, frowning, ”What are talking about Mr. Yeoman?” ”I’ve lived through too many decades to know that things rarely happen without work or Someone planning them... My luck isn’t that good... too many trips to Vegas to prove that!” Emil continued to frown at me. “And today just confirmed that,” I continued. When Emil continued to look doubtful I recited, ”Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father…” I paused to remember, “…The Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; Who… Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that… we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble…” “I didn’t take you to be a Bible reading, church… person,” Emil said coldly. I shrugged and said, “I’ve had a lot of time on my hands.” “Hm!” was all I got out of Emil. The longer I looked at Emil the more I saw myself at his age. He wasn’t aiming to be in front of a camera, but he certainly wanted to shine just as much as I did. “Not many people share our birthday,” I began, “I’ve learned it’s our job to be as much of a star as He was because it’s a yearly reminder that He too was born to be a star. Stars give light, guide, bring in the wanderers and give them a path.” “Why are you telling me this?” Emil asked, “What’s your point?” “I didn’t do my job as a Christmas Star… I pushed everyone away. But you…” I pointed at him with my wrinkled, withered hand, “You still have some shine left in you.” I could see the doubt beginning to melt in him. The hardness in his eyes lessened. He unfolded his arms. Emil leaned forward and said, “You’re wrong.” It was my turn to raise my eyebrows questioningly at him. “You still have plenty more to give.”   

 

THE END