Boxing Day — A Christmas Story

My grandmother was one of the richest people I have ever known. She lived in a giant house, at least 4 stories high, with the biggest garden I had ever seen in my young life. Every year, my family would visit her for Boxing Day. We’d sit in her living room that was larger than a whole floor in our own house, which was her second living room, downstairs from the floor she did most of her living on. We sat together in this cavernous room, which was filled with stuff. Bookshelves and cupboard and tables and drawers, all full of stuff. Not even to mention the giant Christmas tree, and all the hundreds of presents underneath, which had probably been wrapped by her staff.

We’d sit there and sing Christmas songs, and ate cookies and Christmas candy that was all bought from a store and tasted stale, like it was already a couple of months old. She had probably bought most of it back in October, right when stores first started putting it on display. We’d sit there and open presents, all of which were neatly labeled, and contained cheap trivialities, knick knacks, probably imported from Hong Kong or China, which she had bought from a catalog or at the closest big box store. Everyone would get a present, including my parents. And everyone would dutifully hug grandma, say “thank you”, and tell her how much we loved it. And then we’d all turn away, solemn and sullen, and sing another Christmas song, or eat another stale candy until it was time to leave.

My grandmother was one of the poorest people I have ever known. Her giant mansion was filled with stuff, but nobody really lived there, except her and her husband, and one of my uncles, but he lived on the top floor and kept to himself as much as he could. My grandmother had twelve children, but none of them ever wanted to come and spend time with her. They all made up excuses whenever they could, including my mother, who lived only a ten minute drive away.

On Boxing Day, as soon as we’d make it home, we would throw all of our presents away. We know all too well how cheap and poorly made they were, and that most likely they would break within a couple of weeks anyways. On top of that, they weren’t really anything any of us had needed or wanted anyways. Because my grandmother never really took the time to find out what each of us really wanted or needed. She just bought things that were advertised and on sale. Her wallet was as big as her heart was empty.

My grandmother died of loneliness. Sure, the doctors probably wrote something else on her death certificate, but to anyone who knew her, it was fairly obvious. After her second husband (the man I always knew as my grandfather) died, she didn’t make it much longer. Her condition rapidly deteriorated. She never met another man after that. Never married again. Just got worse until she died. It took many months. After she died, her children came from near and far, and paid her respect. And then started the long and difficult process of cleaning up everything in the house. Going through all of her stuff, sorting out the things that were junk from all the things that could be sold. My grandmother had a lot of debt.

After the house was sold, four families moved in. They had all pooled their money so they could afford this giant house. My grandmother was buried in the graveyard at the end of my street, next to her late husband, who was already waiting for her. After the funeral, we never spoke of her again. I haven’t even visited her grave once.

I wish I could offer you a happy ending to this story, a moral, or maybe a lesson learned, but alas; I cannot. For whatever condition it was that afflicted my grandmother, I fear I have inherited a part of it. I am better at making money than I am at making friends. I own more things than I have use for, so I have to rent a storage unit to keep it all. I haven’t spent a single moment of quality time with any of my three brothers all of last year. And I find it easier to bribe someone than to forgive them. So if you are feeling deprived this Christmas, just think of all the people who are so poor that all they have is stuff.