One year ago, for the first time in my life, Christmas was not spent at home. My family and I did not stay up late watching movies, counting down the minutes until Christmas Eve became Christmas Day. We did not wear matching Christmas PJs or sleep in—not that anyone actually manages to sleep in on Christmas Day. My sister and I did not tear into mounds of gifts as our parents sipped on (spiked) coffees. No—we spent our Christmas in a cold, white, dreary hospital room and let me just say, it was the most beautiful Christmas I have ever experienced though it’s not one that I would ever choose to relive.
Christmas in the hospital was a Christmas free of its usual splendor — no heaps of gifts, no elaborate decorations, no Christmas music (does an incessant heart rate monitor count as music?). Instead, Christmas in the hospital was fluorescent lights, shiny, white hallways, eerie beeps and very unfortunate seating arrangements. It was doctors and nurses coming in and out—no Santa in sight. It was blood pressure checks and CT scans and worst of all—a TV that would not cooperate. In the midst of our unfortunate situation was very little entertainment, the exception being my Dad’s lovely visitors.
Christmas in the hospital was willingly waking up with the sun to see my Dad as soon as we could. Christmas in the hospital was Tim Hortons and hospital food including, but not limited to, my Mom’s beloved cream of wheat porridge as well as the infinite Jell-O cups and orange sorbet that devoured. That was, of course, until our family rolled in with the usual Christmas morning feast, featuring warm ham, soft bread rolls and Trinidadian pepper sauce.Â
Christmas in the hospital was a mini tree filled with childhood creations (or better yet, childhood monstrosities made out of foam and popsicle sticks and pom poms). Please recall the Grinch on his house-raiding rampage – that was I.Â
Christmas in the hospital was close friends dressing up as Santa and elves, bringing in bags of gifts and Christmas cheer for everyone. It was the delicious dinner that was brought in by our family and all the laughs that followed. It was watching the clock tick closer and closer until visiting hours would end. At this point, it was heartbreaking to split up. We’d walk to the main entrance as a family and then half of us would walk to the car. As we walked away, we could see the silhouettes of our other halves, illuminated by the bright hospital fluorescents. Though it was an unusual Christmas and I truthfully, never want to experience something similar, there was beauty to be found.Â
The best part of it was time with people we loved the most. My family of four did our best to spend every waking second together in that hospital room. Visitors—both friends and family alike—would constantly drop in and bring joy with them. It was at this time that I learned that the season of giving had nothing to do with gifts. Instead, it was about giving time and presence—something far more priceless than new clothing or cool gadgets. It was through those simple moments that I understood what an intentional, meaningful Christmas could look like.Â
In the months before my family’s hospital excursion, I listened to a Mel Robbins podcast regarding the science of happiness. It talked about how giving and service to others are great ways to attain long-lasting joy. It taught me that giving was not simply giving money, gifts and resources—although those are beautiful things. Giving could also be time and energy. It could be volunteering for a cause you support. It could be visiting a loved one in the hospital. It could be taking the time out of your day to take part in a nice interaction—perhaps, give kindness to a stranger at a coffee shop. Giving comes in all shapes and sizes. Getting creative and finding different means to give is what makes the journey so fulfilling–and the joy so lasting.Â
Back to talking about Christmas… I personally find that this season, the “season of giving”, can often be misconstrued in the sense that giving becomes so commercial, so quantified and sometimes, so obligatory. Let me paint a picture for you:
Scenario A: You love someone with all your heart and you give them a $2 gift this year. Chances are, they will take that as an act of war and one way or another, they will express some act of discontentment.Â
Scenario B: You love someone with all your heart and they give YOU a $2 gift this year. You ask them, “Is this what I am worth to you?” Act of war: the encore.
Why is this the culture? The act of giving is such a beautiful thing, does it truly matter what is being given? Part of me finds it absurd that Christmas has become so materialistic. We measure how much someone values us in the value of the gifts we receive. We do the same when we give gifts too. The other part of me–that part who shows love through gifts–adores this holiday because it is my time to shine. I love gift-giving and I may never stop spending all my money on the people I care for!Â
However, it’s food for thought. It sure gets you thinking… It makes you want to be more intentional about the way you give during the Christmas season. It also makes you reflect about the meaning of Christmas. To me, given my experiences last Christmas, I now see that this holiday is meant to connect loved ones, bringing joy, while also encouraging generosity and gratitude. What does Christmas mean to you?
[Happy Holidays, folks! To everyone who made Christmas of 2023 so absolutely beautiful for my family, please know that you are beyond loved and appreciated. To anyone that is spending this Christmas in a hospital or experiencing an unusual Holiday, find joy where you can! If your only joy this season was receiving a Dyson Hair Dryer or an XBox—do some soul-searching, my friend. Life is about way more than material goods.]