‘A Strawberry Ice Cream Christmas’

Most likely because I am back in Nova Scotia, the place of my childhood Christmases, like Charles Dickens’ Scrooge, ghosts of the past keep seeping through my Christmas 2023 dreams and memories.

The Christmas I remember most was when I was nine years old in the orphanage where I had been placed with my three younger siblings.

It was on Halloween night when the institution took us in. Our parents were alive, but in a marital bitter breakup, my mother awarded custody, had no job and couldn’t afford to keep us.

Stunned to be where I didn’t want to be, I refused to adjust to my new lot in life. I couldn’t get over that I could no longer run up the street from my former home to see my much beloved Aunt Edie. The Sunday visits from my Mother seemed a weekday eternity.

Constantly sitting in one of the institution’s many window seats, left the Sisters of Charity in charge, worried about this sad little girl.

Everything remained the same between Oct. 31st until about a week before Christmas when one of the nuns came to talk to me in my window seat.

“Don’t be so sad,” she told me, reminding me that Christmas was nigh. I didn’t care until she wisely told me in great detail about the good things coming our way on “the most special night of the year, Christmas Eve, the birthday of Baby Jesus”.

“There will be many wonderful desserts, including strawberry ice cream, and because it’s Christmas, you can have as many servings as you like.”

And the very best part came next. Because me and my siblings were the only four among all the children there, whose parents were still living—my Mother would be invited to dinner—and allowed to stay overnight!

I could hardly believe it but it was true and it snapped me straight out of my ‘orphanage blues’.

So on that Christmas Eve, we sat at the very same table as our Mother, with me rapturously eating at least two servings of Strawberry Ice Cream, before joining the nuns singing Christmas carols.

The days that followed found me no longer staring gloomily out the orphanage windows from my window seat, as I was too busy taking singing, piano and ballet lessons.

It was a case of reality taking over from worry, anxiety and depression—a reality that made me realize that even life in an institution could not keep me separated from my Mother.

My Mother could stay overnight any time. Even though the job she trained for would make overnight stays difficult, just knowing that she could stay, gave me an encouraging new outlook on orphanage life.

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When my Mother was able to take us back home several years later, I cried knowing how much I would miss the dear nuns who had taken such loving care of us, and naively made a promise I couldn’t keep when I told orphanage friends, I would return as soon as possible to take them out.

Unfortunately, having to be kept in separate divisions, my siblings and I grew apart, and all went our separate ways when released. Sadly, we remain estranged from each other to this day.

I still have a passion for Strawberry Ice Cream, especially at Christmas.

I continue to remember the kindness of the Sisters of Charity and decades later keep them in my prayers, knowing that they played a big part in making me, who and what I am.

All Christmas Eves, not just the one when I was nine years old, bring HOPE through indelible memories of a Savior who came into this world as a Babe in a Manger.

May the love and hope of the first Christmas be with you always.

Meanwhile, I wish all Canada Free Press readers ‘A Strawberry Ice Cream Christmas’.

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