When Christmas Was Over

It was 1997, Christmas Eve.

Most parents who enjoyed celebrating Christmas with their children would have been making their last preparations, wrapping their children's Christmas presents, and figuring out what to put in their stockings.

That wasn't me.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, whilst everyone ran around, excited to be making their last preparations, ready for Christmas Day, I ended up sitting in my living room, sobbing.

I had woken up to find my living room in a very bad state, and all of the Christmas presents I had bought my eldest son had been stolen.

I felt completely stuck. I had no money left, and I felt guilty because it was Christmas, and I could not stand the idea of every child opening their presents, while I watched on.

My eldest son understood Christmas, whilst my youngest son was too young to even notice it.

That did very little to stop me from feeling like I was the worst Mother on the planet.

My youngest son's presents were still in the living room, though they were not as expensive as my eldest's were. I had only bought a few small new rattles and baby-grows, because my youngest son would not have entertained anything too big, as he was too young.

I'd gone out of my way to buy my eldest a new bike, because he wanted one so bad. I had strived and saved every penny I could get, and now it was gone.

The police had been called, but that didn't get the presents back that were stolen.

The thieves also took all of the food I had bought.

I was beside myself.

I could barely look at my eldest son, who was happily eating breakfast that had been brought down from a friend living above me at the time. He had no idea why the police were here; he was only fascinated with the blue light on their police cars.

The police took all of the details, then they left me picking up the pieces, alone.

A lady whom I thought was a friend must have seen them leave. She turned up on my doorstep, braying it down until I answered it.

I answered it in tears, but she called me a 'grass' and assaulted me.

It wasn't the first time that I had been hurt in these Maisonettes. It happened all of the time, and it wasn't the first time that I had to call the police either.

However, despite having two children, nothing ever got done about it when I called them. The police and local authorities ignored my cries, blaming me for being irresponsible and refusing to help.

My situation hit harder this time, though.

It was Christmas, a time when my children should have been happy.

I went to see my local council, as I was living in a council property in the U.K.

They decided that we should move into a Women's Aid Hostel, for our safety.

I was beyond heartbroken.

We had lost our home, and Christmas had no meaning.

I took the hostel, because I knew that I had to protect myself and my children from any further violent incidents. I wasn't comfortable, but at least we were finally safe.

We were placed upstairs, in a room on the 4th floor. The room had two single beds and a cot. I didn't pack many belongings, just clothes for all of us, which I had picked up in a hurry.

My mum gave me a little money so that I could buy food. Frozen food had to be kept in a shared freezer, which was a nightmare because it always ended up stolen.

Christmas Day arrived, but we did not head downstairs. I did not dare, because I knew my eldest son would have been in tears watching the others open their presents.

I picked him up, and I hugged him.

"Everything will be fine," I whispered, though I was unsure.

I pulled the cereal I had bought out of my bag and prepared breakfast, though my son must have picked up on my emotions because he did not touch it.

While I was feeding my youngest son his bottle, there was a knock on my door that made me jump. I was reluctant to answer it because I didn't know anybody here, and I feared being attacked again.

A member of staff called my name through the door, and reassured me that I was ok, and I found the courage to open it.

"Merry Christmas," she told me, with a smile on her face.

She handed me a large package, which I was reluctant to accept to begin with. She explained that she had teamed up with the staff because they knew that we had been broken into, and we had nothing for Christmas.

"Thank you," I told her with tears in my eyes.

I opened the package in front of her. None of the items was expensive, and it was mostly food, which I was eternally grateful for because I could now give my children food during the Christmas period.

However, when I got to the bottom of the box, I found baby milk and bibs for my youngest, and there was one medium parcel wrapped up in Christmas wrapping paper for my eldest.

I quietly gave it to my son.

"Merry Christmas, darling," I told him with tears streaming down my cheeks.

My son beamed and tore into that wrapping paper within minutes. He pulled out a small teddy bear wearing a Santa hat, and he was beaming the biggest smile I had ever seen

That one teddy bear might not have been much for a child who was used to getting lots of presents at Christmas, but for my son, it meant the world to him.

"What are you going to call him?" I asked him with a big smile on my face.

"Magic Santa," he replied.

I asked him why.

"Because Santa is magic. He saved Christmas," he replied.

I spoke to the lady once the children were settled into bed. She said the teddy bear was a charity bear that she had found in the attic.

The teddy bear might not have been one bought from a shop, and it was the only present my eldest received that day.

That Christmas was supposed to be a miserable one, but despite not having a Christmas tree or decorations.

Seeing my son smile like that motivated me to create our own little Christmas, and with help from the staff, I managed to turn that awful little room into Christmas cheer for my children, who would not have even known it was Christmas Day, if the kind-hearted staff hadn't stepped in to help us.

That one small win restarted Christmas for a child who might have missed out.