I was three (?) or maybe four years old. It is one of those first memories people are able to remember. We were living on the ground-floor of a three storey building. Typical city family, two plus two (at the time) and the Grandma. Nothing unusual. The building was old, post war creation of someone’s imagination, with huge common yard at the back, dark basement which created a horrors for many children in their childish  minds and also common attic full of treasures, always locked and forbidden because of the two tiny unsecured windows…

I remember the place we’ve lived in very well. They don’t raise such buildings anymore. The flats were huge and very tall. With very big windows and parquet floors in some rooms. Our was two bedroom flat, with separate kitchen, bathroom and long corridor.  The hallway was as long as the flat. I remember the dark-green linoleum floor, which at the time was so clean and shiny one could really see own reflection in it. At the end of that hallway was a huge cabinet. The furniture filled the whole recess. It was old, tall and ugly piece of furniture and maybe that is why it was hidden behind a curtain. We didnt find the cabinet as interesting as the whole “landfill” of old, mysterious suitcases and bags full of old clothes and not used things on top of it. None was actually looking in there. Only from time to time new bag was landing on top of the others. The cabinet itself belonged to my Grandmother. Well most of it. Part of it belonged to her.She kept there her underwear and other personal stuff and the other part of this large furniture belonged to winter clothes, shoes and umbrellas. We didn’t get there much neither.

In my country the most important part of Christmas is Christmas Eve. We celebrate on the 24th of December. This is a day when we start Christmas. It starts with special supper, usually soon after it gets dark, “with the first star on the sky” as some say. We gather at the table, everyone nicely dressed and the celebrations begins. When I was a kid, Christmas were magical. Those were times when we knew for sure that there will be a lots of snow. Times when Christmas preparations were starting long before. When flat had to be spick-and span. When all those fantastic smells were wandering from room to room,window to window, flat to flat. Times when there was no TV during Christmas meal. Times when traditions were still alive and cherished…

On that particular Christmas Eve when everything was ready, my Mom or my Grandma, I don’t really remember but it doesn’t matter, sent us to the backyard to check if the first star is already on the sky and if Santa is coming, maybe he is somewhere near already…? 🙂 They were doing it every year actually. Every Christmas Eve we had to go either outside or to the other room and close the door. If it was outside then the view was much better obviously, but in case it was in the other room then things were getting complicated. We were sitting then with our faces glued to the window and all we could actually see was the building on the other side of the street. Anyway, that day we had to got to the backyard.

It was cold and dark already. We were already nicely dressed and practically ready to celebrate, but we had to put some winter jackets on and go outside. We were about to go out and I was the last one to go. I almost closed the door behind me when I saw something. It last for split of a second but has change my life forever.

In this huge mysterious cabinet where my Grandmother kept her underwear and where the whole family kept their jackets, caps, scarfs and gloves were… Christmas gifts. Our GIFTS!! All those things that I have been dreamed of whole year, that I have asked for in a letter to Santa! A gifts that SANTA suppose to bring and secretly put under the Christmas tree! All the free space between hangers and on the shelves has been filled with colorful, small and big beautifully wrapped packets. I closed the door as silently as I could. I didn’t say anything. Not even one word. To anyone. Never.

This was my first trauma. First meaningful discovery. True revelation: SANTA DOES NOT EXIST. It is Grandma. Or my Mom. They killed Santa!

I have never said anything about what I saw. To anyone. I pretended to believe in Santa for few more years, until my Grandmother died. And even a bit longer… Part of my brain refused the reality. I did not wanted to know. I wanted to believe. I didn’t tell my Granny that I have seen her hurriedly opening the cave full of treasures to put them under the tree before we will be back. I didn’t tell her because… I loved her so much. I loved her more than my parents and anyone else! I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. I didn’t want her to feel sorry or sad…

Today is also a Christmas Eve, only thirty years later. My Granny and my parents passed away long time ago. Today it is just me and my husband. There are no gifts. We don’t have a Christmas tree. There is nothing left from that enchanted Christmas I remember from my childhood. I am an adult now and maybe the magic of Christmas is rather gone but there is magic of love and I am thankful for it.

PS. I am still  unemployed by the way. Happy Holidays! 😀