Christmas at Mawmaw’s House: A Memory of Love and Warmth

I can still feel the excitement of pulling into Mawmaw’s driveway at Christmastime when I was little. It wasn’t just about the presents or the holiday itself—it was about her, about family, and about the way her home seemed to wrap you in a hug before she even did.

Mawmaw always greeted me with open arms, and I would melt into her embrace. She was soft, warm, and always smelled like roses and powder. In her arms, I felt safe, like nothing in the world could hurt me.

Her sweaters were always so cozy, paired with neatly creased pants. Her nails were always perfect, her hair styled with every curl just right. Everything about her felt elegant yet comforting, like she was made to be home.

Walking into her house through the side door, which opened straight into her kitchen, I’d be greeted by the familiar smells of bacon, biscuits, and roses. That combination was hers, and hers alone. Even now, just thinking about it makes me feel warm inside.

Her house came alive during the holidays. Laughter and excitement bounced off the walls as we all crowded into the small rooms. Somehow, the space never felt too tight. Instead, it felt full—of love, of life, of all of us together.

I always looked forward to seeing my uncle and his kids, who traveled all the way from the West Coast to be with us. It felt like the whole family was finally complete when they arrived.

And then there was Mawmaw’s Christmas tree. It wasn’t just a tree—it was a little piece of magic. Every ornament shimmered in the light, and every decoration felt like it belonged. Her home was always cozy, but at Christmastime, it was something special. It didn’t matter how cold it was outside; inside, it was always perfectly warm.

I don’t remember most of the presents I got over the years. But one stands out: Richie Bear. That little bear wasn’t just a gift—it was the gift. My Pawpaw gave him to me, and it was the best present I ever got. Richie Bear was more than a toy. He was a piece of Pawpaw’s heart that I could hold onto. I still have him, and I still sleep with him. Even now, he’s my reminder of the love that filled those Christmases.

I also remember Uncle Red and Uncle Richard taking turns playing Santa, the way their laughter boomed through the house as they passed out gifts. I remember sitting in the living room, surrounded by torn wrapping paper and the sound of joy. But mostly, I remember Mawmaw’s smile. She didn’t just watch the happiness—she soaked it in, beaming as she saw her family together.

And then there was Pawpaw, quietly watching from his hospital bed in the corner of the living room. Even when he couldn’t join in the chaos, his presence filled the room. He grounded us all, reminding us just how precious those moments were.

Those days are gone now, and I wish I had held on just a little tighter. I didn’t realize how fleeting they were, how much I’d miss them.

If I could go back, even for just one night, I’d soak it all in. The smell of Mawmaw’s kitchen, the sound of my family’s laughter, the warmth of that little house. I’d hug them all a little longer, look into their eyes a little deeper, and listen to their voices just a little closer.

Because now I know those moments were the real gifts—more precious than anything that could have been wrapped under the tree. Richie Bear might be the best present I ever got, but the love and memories from those Christmases will always mean the most.