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I had forgotten what Christmas really meant until I saw it through my little daughter's toddler eyes.

Having been through a storm of family deaths right around Christmas, instead of the bright holiday of my youth, it had become a dreaded time of the year instead of my favorite. I saw in the lights and trees and presents commercialism instead of the joys of giving and family.

Then my daughter's laughter brightened my existence. And it did more than that.

I'm often accused by my husband of living too much in the past. And I remember the look on his face when he finally went back to my hometown in Indiana and we visited the tiny apartment where I grew up and spent my formative years. To our utter amazement, not only was the apartment, one of four in the building, vacant and empty, it was UNLOCKED!

We looked at each other like eager, albeit naughty, children. Each daring the question, do we go in? We made the silent decision at the same time and stepped through the doorway. It took my breath away, and I saw it all in my mind's eye. The now empty room suddenly held the television of my youth, the couch, the bookcase, the dining room table a few steps away. I saw the tiny kitchen which could not hold three at the table easily. I peered into my bedroom and saw my bed, dresser and desk.

It was then that I heard my husband exhale. "This is where you lived." More of a statement than a question. "Yes," I replied, "but not where I spent most of my time."

I took him to the window and we looked outside. Instead of seeing the carport and fence and new apartment complex behind, I saw the field of beauty that used to be there. I talked him through it. The farmland spreading out almost as far as one could see. The apple trees, three in a row, where we would climb as kids and eat the green apples until we'd get sick and almost fall out of the tree like rotten apples ourselves. The raspberry and blackberry bushes where we picked as many as we would eat, our hands cut up with the thorns, but we didn't care. The cistern down the way that was boarded up, but still a concern to mother, who would shout at us to be careful. The garden, where I grew head lettuce, even though, and probably in spite of the fact that, I was told it couldn't be grown in central Indiana.

I took him to my secret place, just a spot where I was out of sight but not far from home, where I would sit and ponder the things that are the concerns of youth. I showed him the place where my parakeet, my first pet, was buried. We peered through the flower garden now there, and there it was! The brick marking his grave was still there.

All the while he was smiling gently at me. He slipped his arm around me and let me reminisce, missing the wonder of childhood and places where all my early dreams were formed.

And in that moment, I longed for the simplicity of those bygone days. I missed the yearning of youth, when all the world is out there to discover, and every day is a new day and a new chance to grow.

These days I'd been burdened by reality and responsibility. I'd let the joy run out and instead collapsed into a vicious cycle of self doubt and worry.

And then I saw the light in my daughter's eyes. I realized that we are a part of the environment that is forming her dreams and aspirations. And I can choose to be a part of that, or to wallow in my own regrets and disappointments.

When I am most down, I think back on those childhood days, fishing for crawdads and dreaming of tomorrow but living truly in the present, and I do miss it. But when I look at my daughter, and feel the warmth in my heart and the joy she brings me, I feel like I am home again.

Learn more about this author, Elizabeth Bridgette.
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