Dear Mother Néné
At this time of year, it's impossible for my heart not to travel back in time. I've been thinking a lot about us, about our old house, and especially about the magic you created with your own hands. Today, as I write to you, I feel an immense longing for those Christmases of my childhood.
I close my eyes and I can almost smell that unmistakable aroma of cake baking in the oven spreading throughout the house. I remember the set table, that roasted chicken with fried potatoes that seemed like the best dish in the world, and the famous Céris Orangeade. It's funny to think about it today... something that is now so commonplace, easy to find anywhere, but that at that time, for us, was the real luxury, the taste of the celebration.
But what truly moves me, Mom, is remembering your effort and love in every detail. I remember seeing you working, taking apart Dad's clothes to sew matching outfits for me and my brother. You worked miracles with fabric and thread, just to see us looking beautiful. And how important we felt when you bought us new shoes! We wore them proudly for the first time on our walk to church at night, to Pastor Sança's church, where we went, nervous and happy, to recite the Christmas carols.
I fondly remember the ritual of retrieving from that drawer the same Christmas lights that, year after year, we patiently unwrapped. We would place them on our pine tree, the one that exuded the true scent of Christmas, a scent of nature that is rarely found today.
And the anxiety? The rush to get home for the long-awaited Christmas dinner that you had spent the day preparing with so much love. Our sweet childhood innocence, writing the letter to Santa Claus and handing it to you to "put in the mail". I remember the rush to go to bed, forcing sleep to come, just so that morning would come quickly and we could run to see the presents in the shoes.
Mom, we were so happy and we didn't even know it.
Today we've grown up. Life, as it always does, has pushed each of us in our own direction. The Christmas glow isn't the same as it used to be; the lights seem different and time passes faster. But these memories are my treasure. They keep me grateful for everything you did, for every sacrifice, for every smile, and for making our childhood a safe and magical place.
Thank you for everything, my Mother. Christmas always lives within me because you planted it in my heart.
With all my love,
Colin Miranda
