Christmas in April, and the timing was perfect

The Boston Globe

Beverly Beckham

I can see the Christmas tree from where I sit. It’s in the front hall, and because my office looks out on the hall the tree has been my companion since early December.

It’s artificial, of course.

Right now it is decorated for Easter, festooned with Peeps and chocolate eggs and small, fuzzy bunnies and forsythia plucked from a neighbor’s yard.

But until a few weeks ago, it was a typical Christmas tree, bedecked with ornaments and candy canes and small white lights, which staved off the dark for many months. (And which made the two men who came to deliver a stove in late March look at each other and then at me in a “This-one-has-BIG-problems” kind of way.)

My house was adorned for so long that it could have been an attraction at Santa’s Village. Until April 3, there were candles in all the windows, wreaths on every door, a crèche on the mantle, Santas and reindeer and elves and Christmas books on every flat surface, Christmas pictures on the walls, and garland everywhere else. Plus, a life-sized Santa stood by the front door.

The reason for this craziness is simple. My son and his family missed Christmas at home this year. They moved to Scotland 15 months ago in the midst of the pandemic. They missed Christmas that year, too, though they rented a car a few days after and drove from Manhattan to say Merry Christmas and goodbye.

It was a hard goodbye.

We sat outside on our deck, my son, his wife, their three children, my husband, and our daughters and their families, in the cold with our masks on. And when the cold became too much, we sat in the living room 6 feet apart with the doors and windows open, still with our masks on. The tree was lit. And there were presents under it. And the children opened the presents. But there was little joy in Mudville that day. And when it was time for my son to drive his family back to New York, we hugged in the driveway, cold and masked and sad.

A few days later, the Beckhams of New York became the Beckhams of Broughty Ferry.

They had planned on coming home to visit last summer, then last fall. But changing COVID restrictions kept altering their plans. Now, finally, they were all vaccinated and the rules ― which could change at any minute — allowed them to fly. So they booked their flights and I kept the tree up, the house decorated, and my fingers crossed.

But it was never a slam dunk, this visit. Until 24 hours before their flight, there was the looming possibility that one of them would test positive for COVID-19. The 13-year-old had been exposed not once, but twice, just days before. They took their COVID tests with trepidation and got the green light only hours before they left for the airport.

And when they arrived in Boston the night of April 1? It really was like Christmas Eve because it wasn’t just the white lights of my Christmas tree staving off the dark anymore. It was each one of them.

Santa came the next day. The real Santa, who sometimes goes by the name of John Connolly, our neighbor. There he was, ho-ho-hoing across our suddenly green lawn under a bright blue sky. Euan, the youngest grandchild, ran to the window. He’s 8 and on the fence about Santa. But there he stood, nose pressed to the glass, as Santa ― lugging a sackful of candy — made his way to the front door.

Even the big kids were impressed.

There were presents under the tree, too, meant for December but more appreciated now. Everything was appreciated. There we were, all of us, my husband, our kids, their kids and spouses in the living room together. No masks. No windows open. Not 6 feet apart. Talking. Laughing. Drinking wine and champagne (not the kids), eating a turkey dinner ordered from Roche Bros. (I will never cook a turkey dinner again.) And singing along with pianist and accompaniest Brian Patton, who is not officially blood-related but has become part of our family.

Christmas in April. It came and it went. But it will never, ever be gone. Because it was magical. Because, for the first time in a long time, we put away the problems of the world. We didn’t look back and we didn’t look forward. We existed in the moment in a kind of snow globe, for a few precious hours, not oblivious to the outside world but separated from it.

And we needed this. We needed, we all need, to feel joy again.