Courtesy Photo Reagan Voetberg is pictured on the left, being hugged by cousin Jojo McVey.

On many a Christmas Eve, I recall sitting in the back seat of my parent’s van, driving home to Portage from our grandparents house in Kentwood or Byron Center depending on the time period.

We shivered in the van until it warmed up and zipped down the highway under the night sky, Christmas lights twinkling from distant houses. I’d lay my head on the window and attempt to doze off, dreaming of the presents I’d get to open in the morning.

In more recent years, my family’s annual Christmas Eve gathering has looked a little different. We switched locations to my aunt and uncle’s house in Jenison during the Christmas of 2020, where they have a sizable garage that allowed us to space ourselves out and not put my grandparents at risk of a COVID-19 infection.

Then, my grandparents moved from their condo in Byron Center to an independent living/retirement community in 2022, reducing their space significantly. We decided to keep our gatherings at my aunt and uncle’s house.

We’ve switched from gift opening being the highlight of the night, to party-type games including beer pong–minus the getting drunk part for most of us–last year.

Between college, work, and moving out-of-state, it is becoming more difficult to gather all seven cousins every year.

This Christmas Eve there will be one deeply felt absence.

My grandfather–Papa, as we called him—passed away in August. This will be our first Christmas Eve without him. He has a memorial in my aunt and uncle’s house next to the dining table, a picture of him inside a lantern with a battery powered candle.

Papa won’t be at the door this year waiting for a hug. He won’t ask us all to sing a hymn together, and he won’t be there to tell us how thankful he is for his good kids and grandkids. More importantly, he won’t be there to play beer pong with us. He and Grandma received the loudest cheers for successful plays.

Even as people come and go, one thing will remain the same. Papa wanted us to know that the birth of Jesus is the most important part of Christmas. That truth will live on beyond Papa, beyond all of us.

Christmas Eve at my grandparents house typically began with happy hour. Grandma placed a bowl of cashews or cheese and crackers on the counter, wine for the adults, and a Sprite and orange juice mix for the kids.

One year, happy hour consisted of a notorious failed attempt at cheese fondue. It somehow came out very bitter.

If I was bored before dinner, I’d mess around with the nativity set made of wooden blocks that rested under one of the Christmas trees. I also liked to search the trees for Grandma’s Barbie ornaments. I thought they were so pretty.

Dinner was always traditional, typically consisting of chicken or steak, potatoes, homemade applesauce, salad, green beans, and a dinner roll or bread. We sat around the table and Papa began the meal with prayer or a short speech.

After dinner, the adults cleaned up and then we opened presents. We had one gag gift that got passed around some years, a pair of Winnie the Pooh boxers.

Once presents were opened, any number of things could happen. Sometimes the cousins played a game of sardines, which is like hide-and-seek but there’s only one person hiding and everyone searches for them. Or, Papa might tell us one of his stories from growing up on a farm. Uncle Randy started wrestling matches, in which one of his main tactics was tickling.

Dessert would be served later, and whether we had cake, pie, or brownies, there was always ice cream to go with it.

When it got late, we’d pack up our gifts and head out, but not before giving grandma and Papa one last hug.

One day, the Christmas Eve gatherings will end entirely, and new traditions will begin. But for now, I’m still looking forward to Christmas Eve and commemorating all that mattered most to Papa: the birth of Our Savior and spending time with his family.