The Year of Collette
By: Angel B.
Tags: Christmas, Time, Memories, Moms

Inspired by Mom’s Passing

My memories of Christmas are some of the few warm, happy childhood memories I have. Somehow, despite the craziness and strife that surrounded our little family, my mom always made small miracles happen on Christmas morning. It was the smell of the pine from the little tree… sometimes just branches she’d tie together… the twinkle of the lights playing on tinsel, and the glimmer of foil paper in a darkened room. It was the aroma of foods we rarely got to eat, and the laughter of friends who came by with holiday cheer, and to play music in our tiny living room. Mom had a way of making the presents look so beautiful — often, that was more important that what was inside the box. My brother and I would wake up while it was still dark out, so excited to begin the ritual unwrapping… and Mom would never let us start till she’d had her coffee. It was SO hard to wait!

One year in particular stands out in my memory because it was the Year of Collette.

Collette was a baby doll, and she was the most beautiful doll I had ever seen. I saw her at a high end toy shop in Santa Cruz, and she stood out from all the others on the shelf because she was so stunning. Naturally she was French. She had glossy auburn hair, big almond eyes, and the daintiest, frilliest white lace layette… with matching hat and booties. I had never met a doll so lovely. I was six, and Collette was dazzling.

My mother looked at the price tag and hurriedly pushed Collette back on the shelf, huddling her in among the other dolls. The look on her face was one I would come to know all too well. It was a stoic blend of “this is the most overpriced piece of crap I’ve ever seen,” and “here we go again.” This time, she even teased me. Something about being born into the wrong family, or champagne taste… and she grabbed my hand and bundled me out of the store. I looked back for a last glance at the lavish doll display. I could see Collette’s soft pink cheeks and sad cherubic smile bidding me adieu. There was a small lump in my throat as I knew I would never see her again. Just a whim. An impracticable dream… every child has had one. I resolved not to think of Collette again.

Weeks passed and the magic morning came. My brother and I padded hurriedly in, in pajama’d feet to wake up Mom and wait with great anxiety as she made her coffee. And then we were bounding over to the tree, marveling at what had mystically appeared since we’d gone to bed last night, and trying to resist the blinding urge to become little animals and rip everything open at once. And suddenly, I saw it. A handmade wooden rocking cradle rested near a pine bough toward the wall, and inside was something soft and lilac colored. I pulled the cradle out into the light and gasped in disbelief. Wrapped in baby blankets and nestling her head on a tiny lavender pillow was Collette, her sweet brown eyes closed in slumber.

It’s hard to say what impact we will have, or what lasting memories we make, with even the smallest things we do for our children. I know today and always, I think of my mother as I put up our tree and hang the lights… and I feel her spirit close to me as I wrap the gifts for my little girl… who is now getting a bit too old for dolls. And for me, Christmas remains my favorite holiday… it’s like a song that takes you back to an exact moment in time. I close my eyes and I am still sitting with Collette in my arms under my mother’s improvised tree, awash with the wonder and joy that only children understand.