HOLIDAY GRIEF | THE WIND PHONE
Saying Goodbye at Christmas
The holidays will never be the same
It’s supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year, only it’s not, at least not anymore.
15 years ago today, one week before Christmas, I lost the person who meant the most to me in my life. The person who had the biggest influence on who I am. She nurtured and sacrificed to make sure I had the best foundation to be someone special. My mom.
Christmas was always a big deal in our home. Preparations would begin months ahead of time. The shopping, the wrapping, the tree decorating, the baking, the cards, and the stress. It was a full-time job. But every year my mom would pull out all the stops to ensure we had the best Christmas possible.
As she got older, when the kids and even the grandkids were all grown up and my father was gone, Christmas began to lose some of its magic. She would only do a bit of baking, usually with one of my sisters. Her card list was pared down to just a small number of family and close friends. The shopping was cut back to just a few gifts.
Then after she was diagnosed with what was first thought to be Alzheimer’s disease, and later, changed to Lewy, body disease, another form of dementia, my mom’s Christmas became just a series of old memories. She could remember Christmases long past, she just couldn’t remember what she did yesterday or even a few minutes ago.
We watched her fade away from the strong, vibrant woman she once was. I would still search for the light in her eyes, and sometimes I would see it in a flash of recognition before it was gone again.
It seemed almost appropriate to lose her when we did, one week before Christmas. I had flown halfway across the country when my sister called to tell me it was time. I knew the call was coming, but I don’t think you’re ready ever ready to say goodbye.
On her last day, I held her. I climbed onto her bed, holding her, comforting her, and telling her how much I loved her. how much we all loved her and it was okay for her to go. We would be okay, my dad and her mom and dad were waiting for her. As her breath became shallow, stopping for longer and longer periods of time, I felt her slipping away. Until the moment when her next breath never came. I held my own breath, waiting for it. When it didn’t come, I exhaled, she was gone. I turn to look at my two sisters sitting bedside and without saying a word, we knew.
The next few days were spent telling family and friends about our loss. Repeating the story over and over again about her final hours and how she died “peacefully with her family by her side.” And there were arrangements that had to be finalized. Luckily, most of that had already been worked out. For me, there was also a eulogy that needed to be written, and a photo slideshow to be prepared. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it gave me a chance to put into words all that she had meant to me and to share with others, what a remarkable woman she was.
Her funeral was held three days before Christmas. I’m sure she would have done all she could to not have that happen when it did. But we don’t get to choose when we are going to leave this life.
Christmas has never been the same again. I’ve tried, and my sisters have tried, but it’s not the same. A pall hangs over what used to be a season of joy. Despite the time passed, it’s still difficult to hold back the tears, remembering what we’ve lost. The memories of our Christmases-past give us comfort, but every time I hear her favorite carol, the tears return.
Fall on your knees Oh hear the angels’ voices Oh night divine.
Merry Christmas Mom
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