Christmas Presence by Karen Bussey O'Rourke

        We didn’t know we would be alone.  I don’t think it was planned that way.  Most of the older kids were married or were somewhere else.  Mother lived in Ohio, and she had no money to come home.  Daddy was at the Blue Bell Café, I think.

        It was Christmas Eve. There was only the two of us.  I was sixteen, and Johnny was twelve.  We each had our own memories of other Christmases.  I remember when Johnny and I shared a bicycle one Christmas (boy’s bike, of course).  We always got books.  We would hammer our Daddy’s socks to the wall behind the coal stove.  On Christmas morning, we would find them stuffed with candy, nuts, and fruit.  One year I actually heard jingle bells on the roof, I swear.

        Mother used to melt paraffin wax and mold candles in empty milk cartons. When she added silver or gold glitter, they became Christmas wonders.  Mother loved small trees with blue lights and “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas”.  Daddy used to bring home boxes of fruit and all kinds of candy. I can still smell oranges and think of Christmas.  Our memories were all we had that night, because we were alone.

        Behind our house, in Kroger’s parking lot, was a Christmas tree lot that had closed for the year.  Trees that no one wanted were lying around on the ground.  Johnny and I looked at each other and thought, “Why not? Who would care if we took one?”  We dragged one tree through the parking lot, across our backyard, up the steps, and through the back door.  We found a tree-stand stored on the back porch, and got the tree propped up in the living room.  We got Mother’s blue lights and strung them around the tree.  We couldn’t find any ornaments, so we made bells using tin foil wrapped around paper cups and sat them in the tree. No popcorn and cranberries for us!  The tree was beautiful when we plugged in the lights, but we were not quite satisfied with the way the room looked.

        Well…the second tree was easier to use because we broke off the branches before we went into the house.  As we placed the pine boughs around the room, we were happy. What could we do next…?

        We had some egg nog and decided to look around for something to add to it.  We began searching for Daddy’s hiding places for empty whiskey bottles.  We found several in the top of his closet, and one under the mattress.  Putting the few drops of whiskey into the egg nog, we were ready to celebrate.

Now, the cigars.

        The highlight of the evening was sitting on the back stoop with our egg nog, smoking a cigar, and looking at the stars.  It was a beautiful night.  The weather was mild for a December night, so we didn’t need jackets.  Neither of us liked the egg nog or the cigar, but as we sat there, we shared a closeness that has never left us.  We felt so alone…but not alone.

        I don’t remember the Christmas presents that year.  That was not important…but I’ll never forget the gift that Johnny and I gave to each other; the gift of another’s presence…just being with someone and being glad you are not by yourself.  I think we were feeling very sorry for ourselves; like no one knew we were there.  Christmas came anyway. 

        The thoughts that are running through my mind more that 30 years later still echo with that loneliness.  Also I feel a deep love for my brother Johnny who shared that Christmas with me.  When we talk about it now, we laugh…but inside there are tears that no one sees but us.

by Karen O’Rourke

December, 1991

Note from Judy Bussey: 

          It's very difficult to go through the "Holiday Cheer" when we know so many people who are sad, or lonely ,or who have no gifts. We lived in the coal camp until I was 16. The old stereotype of coal miners working like brutes all week and drinking all weekend has some truth for our family--and especially at Christmas. The Bussey children always stuck together through the Christmas fights, the crying, the remorse, and finally the joy of having a tree and a meal ready, and a few toys for the little ones. When Daddy and Mother settled down, Daddy would play boogie woogie and Blues on our old upright piano. We'd gather round and sing such songs as Chattanooga Choo Choo, Four Leaf Clover, Chattanooga Shoe Shine Boy, and many more. He did great Louis "Satchmo" Armstrong songs too! Mother even wrote a Christmas song once and we all had parts to sing. So, we knew joy and had deep love for each other. 

          Most of you may not know that my mother left in 1960, the year I graduated PHS at age 16. Sister Karen and baby brother Johnny stayed with Daddy who had just moved to P-Burg. The story goes that Johnny walked Mother to the bus station in Prestonsburg and said, "I won't cry Mommy, if you don't". It was a sad time and Karen's story haunts me. I don't even remember where I spent Christmas that year, and I still feel guilt that I wasn't with my little sister and brother. But, they made it through a special Christmas with a stronger bond than ever. I hope you enjoyed Karen's Story. I'm guessing the year was 1961.