Christmas has never been the same since my mom passed in 1990. Her efforts at sheltering me from experiencing death growing up, didn't prepare me to face her loss. I miss her most in unasked questions.<br /> <br /> A yearly joy going on 28 years has come from her passing. Christmas comes early to our home, in the form of a care package from our next door neighbours in the home town I grew up in. Mr. And Mrs. Hulan, as I still call them, some fifty years later, were George and Roma to my mom. Their home was right next door to our two bedroom house that was tucked in behind Phil McCann's garage in Stephenville, Newfoundland. <br /> <br /> Growing up in a single-parent family, Mr. and Mrs. Hulan were an extra set of parental eyes that kept watch over my brother an myself while my mom worked at the local department store. Summer vacations spent camping and cross country skiing in the winter were some of the opportunities we got to share with them and their three daughters.<br /> <br /> A tradition every year was joining their family for Christmas dinner. My brother and I would give up playing with our gifts to dress nice (as mom would request), dawn our winter coats (fronts of them open with no mitts or cap) and schlep across the yard to the Hulan's. I have only come to appreciate the feelings generated from that gather some fifty years later. It seems every year like the memories drawing from putting the favourite ornament on the Christmas tree, I can taste Mrs. Hulan's pudding and sauce the best stopper found at any Christmas meal. <br /> <br /> I can't recall when I first started receiving the Gift of Christmas Home? A few weeks before Christmas a brown paper wrapped box from Mr. And Mrs. Hulan arrived. Tucked inside was a Christmas fruit cake and a present for my spouse Cindy and myself. Jenna our daughter received a gift when she was born. As our family has grown so has the gifts in the box multiplied. This year Kenzie our wonderful granddaughter got her second Gift of Christmas Home.<br /> <br /> Mr. Hulan passed two years ago. His job was packaging the Gift of Christmas Home. I don't believe, there is a man on earth that can design and construct a cardboard container to better protect it's contents. I can't recall any year past where the cake was broken or the contents of the box exposed. I have to say there is a woman, his wife Mrs. Hulan who has taken over the task of packaging that would make the man proud.<br /> <br /> This years gift for me, was knitted grey wool socks. As I pulled on the grey bristled beauties, I wasn't preparing to shovel the drive way but rather I was getting ready to play road hockey or dressing to keep my feet warm for a toboggan ride. I have received knitted treasures in past years. They always seem to contain in the knit one purl two ribbing memories from my childhood.<br /> <br /> The Gift of Christmas Home is a joy our family looks forward to every year. When it arrives, we get together to cut the packaging and pass out the contents. Breaking the cellophane tape releases the aroma of cloves from the cake trapped in the hermetically sealed container. Each person waits in anticipation to discover what reminder of my home will Mrs. Hulan knit this year. No one has ever been disappointed, only friends who can't find the items locally.<br /> <br /> I will make a phone call on Christmas day, as I have done every year since receiving the package. My first question is usually what is for dinner? It is usually followed by, are we having pudding? I will be right over.   Submitted By: sean conway