Christmas Day

It’s Christmas morning…Christmas mourning.  Sad play on words.  We’ve all felt as if she’s holding on for Christmas.  So between missing the big morning with my family opening presents and feeling like days with Mom are so thin, I’m a big fat sobbing mess.  Everything feels heavy.  How do I get dressed? How do I lift my feet to walk?  Driving 25mph thru Preston seems like cruel punishment when I’m racing to get to her side.  I keep my sunglasses on while I sign in and receive my sticky visitor badge so the chipper receptionist won’t see  how much of a wreck I really am.  Tick Tick Tick slowly rises the elevator, then freedom.  I’m almost there.  Another wave of tears when I walk in…relieved to be there and to see her smiling face.  She beams, “I woke up and I knew something was different.  My bloodwork came back better.” The sideways glance from the nurse confirmed that wasn’t the great news it appears to be. That upswing before the final goodbye.  

I went to work…being busy helps me to feel useful and not so teary.  I open the window just a crack to let in the delicious air…it’s so stifled in here.  It smells like sour milk.  She smiled but then got chilled.  

Carolers came and sang Joy to the World.  Something about Christmas carols always makes me cry…added to this situation, I’m gushing.  Pastor stopped by and prayed with us.  More gushing.  Pull yourself together.  We go thru her outstanding bills and account information.  Once completed, I could tell she was relieved.  One less worry to weigh her down. Family arrives post Christmas flurry and we all share gifts and morning stories.  Mom starts to fade…we all give her some quiet time to nap.  

Later, Mom has quiet time with my nephew, James.  He doesn’t quite understand that Mom-Mom is fading.  That soon, she won’t be able to help with homework or keep company on the weekends while my sister works. We leave Dad alone to have quiet time as well, but we return to find him surfing the channels.  TV turned to shield the hospital bed.  Hmmm. He’s dealing with this the only way he knows how.  I try hard not to be angry.  

My niece, Angel, has shared this experience with me every day 9am - 11pm.  She has taken off of work and school, is fiercely territorial about her grandmother and single-handedly removes, drains, and repacks her side drain twice a day.  She has helped my Mom in such a way that no grand daughter should have to.  Seen more things that will cling in her memory for years.  But she is showing Mom such amazing and beautiful love.  Tender and sweet.  I’m crazy proud of her.  

At the end of the day, it’s just me and Mom.  I read her the obituary I wrote.  One less thing to write while I’m grieving later.  Then I read her the first post to  my blog..The Beginning. She strokes my arm when I get shaky and quietly encourages me to be strong and keep reading. She is quiet when I finish.  I’m waiting to hear what she thinks…was it too emotional for her? Did I get facts wrong? She loves hearing it from my perspective…15 plus years packed into one dialogue.  Would she do anything differently?  I want to read everything to her, but I can tell she’s tired.  I tuck her in and crown her with headphones…usually the Luke Bryan channel lulls her to sleep but tonight she asks for Christian music.  The song It Is Well queues up.  So timely and reassuring.  I gather my things and give her one final kiss before I turn down the lights.  Walking away from her room and down to the car, I realize it is indeed well with my soul.