When I think of Christmas from my childhood, one vivid memory always comes back to me that I will remember for the rest of my life. It's December, it's cold outside and it's snowing. The wood stove that we used to heat the house crackles in the house. I was awakened by the warmth of the oven and the smell of my grandmother's apples with cinnamon. The lights on the Christmas tree were burning in the living room, and my grandfather was sitting by the window holding the little red car he bought for me. I wanted one just like the one my friend from the neighborhood has.
I didn't understand it then, but today I know that it wasn't just a gift, but a way for my grandfather to tell me that I was loved. That home is where they are waiting for you, even before you open your eyes. Still, every winter, when December comes, I remember this beautiful event for me and feel that same quiet warmth... as if their voice were coming back to hug me.
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