I think as years go by and we “lose” people, Christmas no longer holds the unadulterated joy we experienced as children.  As a semi-lapsed Catholic I still hold the religious meaning in my heart.  The rest is more problematic.  You see, in my family people tend to die at Christmas time.  Not the happiest of family traditions, is it?

One Christmas week death was my grandmother.  She died at the ripe old age of 99, but it was on my birthday.  As we used to say back in the day, bummer.  One year on  Christmas Eve my Aunt was visiting and staying over night.  The entire family was there, and we had the usual festivities.  Said Aunt had some health issues as well as dementia and had some indigestion.  Well, 7 of us went to bed Christmas Eve, but only 6 awakened Christmas morning.  Our kids were 17 and 10, and we had to get them out of bed and explain the arrival of the police.  And the undertaker.  Deal with their hysterical Grandmother, get her presents out from under the tree, and call the Eucharistic Minister who was to come to the house and give her  Communion and say “thanks anyway”.  All I could think of was there she was having a heart attack and I sent her to bed with some tums.  Way to go, self.

That year I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when people asked me “So how was your Christmas?”

I will never regret that I was able to care for my Mother at home during her last illness.  It was a hellish year plus for me, but it was worse hell for her.  I didn’t want to call hospice in too soon, for fear she would think I was giving up.  She had been the one to find my Aunt that other Christmas, and I know she feared dying at home and “ruining” another one.  It was like we were stuck in an awful movie with an unbelievable plot.  Did I mention I was recovering (but not swiftly or well) from abdominal surgery?  I was in a lot of pain, but too busy and exhausted to pay much attention.  The 25th drew closer and Mom realized she wasn’t going to “go” before, so by sheer force of will was determined not to ruin Christmas.  She hung on until the early hours of the 26th.  Thanks Mom, and God Bless.

We were all shell-shocked that day, but there were things to do.  My brothers and I needed to go to the funeral home and make arrangements.  But first it was time to figure out what was with my surgical incision.  I’d have to wear real clothes for the wake and funeral.  A trip to the local urgent care answered that question.  Apparently my belly had swelled with infection and needed to be cut open and drained (ho-ho-ho) and I was in dire need of antibiotics.  The icing on the cake was he couldn’t stitch it back closed, it needed to drain.  So there I was at the funeral home helping to make decisions and bleeding through the dressing.  The best thing I can say about that day was that we survived it.

Our daughter was 19 and had been home from college seldom leaving her Grammy’s side.  They had a very close relationship and I was worried about how stoic she had been the day she died.  That ended the day after.  She was sitting at a desk chair, with her pet cockatiel Bart on her shoulder.  As she got up, Bart hopped onto the back of the chair.  Then Mom’s yappy little dog gets out of her room, and runs toward the desk.  Bart gets scared, and flutters to the floor.  The dog grabs the bird to “play” and sinks in her teeth.  Hell ride to the nearest vet who handles birds.  We go home, Bart needs to calm down a while before being stitched up.  Well, the phone rings and she answers and is told her bird didn’t make it.  She sinks to the floor, and the next thing we know we’re all standing in a circle, hugging and crying.  By this time we’re waiting for the plague of locusts to show up………

That night she cuts a section from her well worn blankie and we take an ornate wooden box to bury Bart in.  She tenderly covers him with a piece of the blanket and tell him goodbye.  Her Dad hot glue guns shut the box, and I come up with a plan.  We tell the Funeral Director we’ll be putting a memory box in with Mom right before he closes the casket  — you know, photos, keepsakes and the like.  So at the final goodbyes, she settles Bart into the crook of Grammy’s arm so they can keep each other company.  It was a highly illegal thing to do, but to comfort our daughter I’d have done anything at that point.  (if some how it had been discovered, I would have told them the Director knew nothing of it, as not to get him in trouble.).

I hope my Christmas story puts things in perspective for some of you folks out there.  On the 25th if the roast burns, tree falls over, the kids are disappointed they didn’t get what the wanted, or Uncle Fred gets drunk and sloppy get over it.  Those things aren’t that important in the scheme of things.  If your loved ones are alive and relatively well you’ve been given the greatest gift of all.  Count your blessings, and if you don’t I just may invite you to sleep at our place this Christmas……………

Happy, happy, Joy, joy!  Got back last Saturday from visiting the kids.  Daughter, Son and Daughter-in-Law.  They all looked wonderful, tired but wonderful.  All three are working too hard, but working so I can’t complain.  Our Daughter-in-Law, who is due in late May has a teeny tiny pregnant belly and really does “glow”, as they say.  While visiting, I made a momentous decision….and the winner is GRAMMA!.  My partner in Grandmothering is to be Grammy, and I’ve been pondering the list of other possibilities.  I was already missing the three kids on the airplane coming home to the tri-state area from FLA. We arrived in a snow storm that was dumping 9 inches of snow in our town.  Not so happy, happy, joy, joy.  But the real fun was to come shortly.

We were home about an hour and a half.  I was doing the usual just arrived home stuff; emptying suitcases, putting laundry on, opening mail and apologizing to my plants.  Then it happened.  One of my suitcases, in a fit of pique, hurled itself into my left pinky toe.  My toe was jammed back toward my foot, and yanked outward to point northwest rather than north.  I knew it was broken (I’d broken that toe twice before), and knew I couldn’t get away with taping it to the next door neighbor.  It would need to be manipulated back into place.  Yank, crunch, gasp and all.  So off we went.  After a sad goodbye, and a nerve wracking flight it was a hellish ride in the snow to a festive four hour stay in the emergency room.  And I can’t even kick myself in the ass ’cause my damn toe is broken!  Are we having fun yet?

Did you ever have one of those days when you know you need something, but you don’t know what?  That was my day today.  As I hobbled about in my try-not-to-rebreak my toe orthopedic boot thing I narrowed it down to three possibilities; large quantities of chocolate, a facial or a prefrontal lobotomy.  If I went with my gut it would be the chocolate, which would then locate itself around my gut adding to my waist measurement. No, not a good idea.  A facial?  That involves money and a stranger messing about with my face who will then try to sell me about $1000.00 worth of products.  Thank you, no.  That leaves the lobotomy.  All that involves is a doctor with an ice pick who is willing to jam it behind my eye, and waggle it around in my brain a bit.  The best of the three choices, but it involves locating a maniac with an ice pick and I’m feeling less than energetic.  So instead it’s household chores and writing Christmas cards.  Can I stand the excitement?

Here is some marital advice from a woman who’s been with the same man since she was a teenaged bride.  Yes, I know you didn’t ask for it, but you’re getting it anyway.  Male or female, if you are married don’t sleep with other people.  It’s a very simple precept and I understand for some it’s difficult. But it’s sort of the whole point of marriage and it’s much nicer for the kids.  If that’s not in your nature, be up front with your partners and DON’T GET MARRIED. It saves a lot of heart ache and a number of funerals.  Think about it.