Christmas Eve of 1944 I still remember my Christmas of 1944. My dad had developed tuberculosis after working most of his life breathing contaminated air in cotton gins and other such places. After he’d been hospitalized in Elmwood Sanitarium in Fort Worth for some time and had gotten past the contagious stage of his sickness, he’d been allowed by the sanitarium folks, to come home for Christmas. Dad rode a city bus from the sanitarium across town to our house that Christmas Eve morning. We kids were thrilled to see dad when he walked in our front door. We’d missed him so. Children weren’t allowed inside the sanitarium because of the risk of that infectious disease. Mom made homemade eggnog that day and probably laced dad’s portion with a little bourbon, and she’d served him some later while he sat in his rocker. She’d bought another of his favorite Christmas Eve treats too…Dad was very fond of raw oysters. Mom had baked us cookies and we washed them down with mugs of hot chocolate. Sugar was still rationed so she’d been saving it. World War 2 was winding down in some places around the world but just about everyone still had a family member serving in the military somewhere. Here, in America, rationing of lot’s of foods and other commodities had made folks remember better times. Dad had sold his car before he went to the sanitarium because gasoline and oil were rationed and rubber tires were almost impossible to get. We didn’t have to be told Santa’s gifts would be fewer that year because dad had been sick and mom, as the only breadwinner, was riding a city bus to and from work at the defense plant north of town, doing her job, as Rosie the Riveter, helping make bomber planes, keeping food on the table for her five children, being a full time mom and trying to get enough rest so she could keep on, keeping on! My two older sisters helped mom, as best they could, tending to their three younger siblings while mother worked the night shift, and slept some in the daytime while we kids were in school. When bedtime finally arrived, we were ready. We were eager for Christmas morning to come, hoping Santa Claus would come to the Wood’s house. Early on Christmas morning we were up! Santa Claus had sure enough come. He’d brought us some toys, some gifts, some fruits and nuts, and I remember mom and dad, sat and watched us while we opened our gifts and played on the floor.. That was a happy time for our family that Christmas. While mother with the help of my two older sisters prepared our Christmas day meal, we three youngest kids sat with dad. I remember hugging and kissing him before he left to ride the bus back to the Elmwood Sanitarium the next morning. Dad never spent another Christmas with us. We never had another opportunity to hold his hand or hug and kiss him, ever again. Dad had 2 serious heart attacks the next year. He passed away in my mother’s arms on the night of November 5th 1945. Dad was nine days past his 45th birthday. I was almost 8 years old. I still miss my dad and never will forget the last time he was with us on Christmas. When I close my eyes, I can still see him, sitting in his rocking chair, smiling at me. I still remember a few of the toys that Santa Claus brought me that Christmas. When mother came home from the sanitarium with dad’s belongings, I used his shaving brush and mug when I grew old enough to shave. His shaving mug eventually got broken; and I gave my youngest daughter his shaving brush. I wore my dad’s robe when I grew to fit it. When it finally wore out, and began to come apart in many places, I couldn’t bear to throw it away so I folded it, wrapped it in paper and buried it. They’re all gone now, my mom and my four siblings, one by one. I’m the last one. I hope my family is together again and with God. I’ll be along to see them someday, when the Lord decides it’s my time to pass on. Until then, I’ll continue to celebrate each Christmas like my dad did, like it might be my last one, we never know, do we. Merry Christmas Everyone! God Bless You All!
Posted on: Wed, 24 Dec 2014 14:24:13 +0000
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