I remember when I was about ten, watching my Mom in the kitchen at the stove on Christmas or Thanksgiving. The kitchen in our house was about the size of the average McMansion pantry, had no granite, no stainless steel appliances and no custom cabinets, but was still the room that held most of my happy childhood memories.

All of a sudden, it occurred to me that Mom had to work pretty hard to put this big family shindig together. I said, “Mom, I’ll bet you don’t even like the holidays because you have to do all the work.” (I was such an insightful child!) She looked at me horrified and said it didn’t matter because the important thing was that the family was getting together. That has been a big theme, especially for my Mom…the importance of family…for reasons that can’t be shared in a blog. They need a whole novel…maybe a trilogy.

Over the years, I have found that for me, the holiday season was becoming less “Joy to the World” and more “Bah, Humbug!” I resented the chore aspects of the season. I detest shopping anyway and during the holidays, when I have to suffer the crowds and lines, it’s practically unbearable. Online shopping has helped in that regard! I felt like a fraud when I bought a gift for someone because it was an obligation, not because I felt compelled to or found just the right thing. I do a bit of that during the year, not at the holidays. I even began to dread the obligatory holiday parties in kids’ classrooms and in every group to which I belonged.

Last year I ended up in the hospital at UNC-Chapel Hill for 13 days, including Christmas and New Year’s Day. It was my depression, coming to haunt me at the time of year when anything less than jolly frivolity is seen as suspect. With the help of too many doctors to mention and the surprisingly intense companionship with my fellow patients, I got better and I got perspective.

A couple days before Christmas, I finished the books my husband had brought me and found myself bookless, a state that causes me great anxiety. I asked some of the nurses if there was a good bookstore in the area and they recommended Market Street Books. From the community phone in the hall, I called and spoke to the owner, Kathryn, and explained my plight. I figured that if I told her what books I wanted and gave her my (memorized, of course!) credit card number, maybe she could have the books sent to me at the hospital overnight.

Instead, Kathryn gathered my books together and personally delivered them to the hospital where they filled the remainder of my stay with one of my most reliable medications, something good to read. Kathryn may be personally responsible for the demise of my “Bah, Humbug” attitude and the rise of the importance of family, which for me includes blood relatives, an amazing abundance of friends and, thanks to Kathryn, the community of people who care about people they don’t even know and give without judgment to those who might not be having such a great holiday.

For a fuller explanation, PLEASE read my blog from last Christmas with the full story of The Gift of the Magical Bookseller.

Di appears Saturdays on TriangleMom2Mom. Read more about her at her blog Live and Let Di.