Favorite Christmas present?

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What was it? No, and don't tell me "the beautiful family I have", or "to enjoy family and friends". I mean a real present. And remember, while religiously I adhere to Christmas formally, for gifts I am rather loose as I believe Christmas is every day. What was that one gift that meant something special to you?

Me? I thought you would never ask! *pokes fun at self* Why, that would be the antique dresser I have in my bedroom. It was the first real piece of furniture I have ever owned, that was a gift, personal, and of some value. It gave me the hope of being or finding "home". It was the first thing real, lasting, personal, and home-ish. It was probably the beginning of... settling down. It was that one strike of lighting in an otherwise dark night of life. The only other thing I remember was my first bicycle. It was the first thing that was truly mine, of some value to me, and well beyond my ability at the time to buy. I don't remember most other gifts. So much for commercialism. Though, of course, I remember sharing Christmas with people. But as I said, that is another matter.

Aunty put me on this train of thought with her question.

My mother called, early, around 7:00(ish). While I was able to talk to her, which is what she needed, I wasn't quite up to knowing the time or getting up afterward. The call did get me out of bed far earlier than of late, with the help of some cats I know who saw their opportunity for an earlier than usual meal. *meow?* Up by 8:30, give or take.

My mother is preparing, today, for the funeral of a dear friend. She has been helping the son of that friend greatly in the time leading up to the death of her friend, filling in as surrogate mother and adviser. I think, as my mother ages, and sees death all around her, that she knows her time is nearer. Perhaps that all of our times are coming. In this case, she knows it is not just her death but the bereavement of those left behind where the pain of passing will be known most strongly. Helping a mother and her son to the door, through it, and soon to go beyond it, brings it home to her like nothing else could. More so in a family with as many problems as ours has known. She just needed to know that she was loved, to remember she is forgiven, to hear a voice she remembered, to connect with the living and life. While, for my sake, I hope I beat her to the grave I can't quite wish that on her. Strange how death can bring families together.

Bring you up then smash you to the depths then try to mellow it into a level midlevel flight? All in a days work if that wasn't quite what I set out to do. It just happens. Have a great day.