My mom used to LOVE Christmas.
By “love” I mean she would go all out. Every nook and cranny of every room was filled with something sparkly and shiny. There were specific decorations that went in specific spots every year: the snowman couple in a basket always sat in the corner of the foyer and the giant sleigh with toys falling off of the back was always front and center on the mantle in the den. She was the only one who was qualified to do the lights on the tree, and only after they were up (which was a multi-day process) were we allowed to help hang the ornaments, and that was only while Manheim Steamroller was playing and we all had eggnog served in the china cups she collected over the years from Arby’s.
Then, when I was a sophomore in high school, my grandmother died over Thanksgiving break. From what I knew, Christmas was a huge deal for her too…and that’s where my mom’s love for the holiday was created. That year I took over the decorating. I knew it was too painful for my mom, and she thanked me for carrying it on. As the years continued she got back some of her holiday glitter and shine…but never to the extent it had been before she lost her own mom.
When I got married I decided to do my darnedest to recreate the magical techni-colored super sparkly traditions I had as a kid. I think my husband almost choked on his eggnog (which he hates, by the way) (which might be the real reason he choked) several times when he saw actual metal tinsel going up on the tree and the 3-foot tall stocking leftover from my childhood, but I loved it. LOVED IT. I played the music and lit the candles and the traditions were created. As the kids came along it got even better, and I truly cherished every moment. We had the “naughty elf” that played pranks, opened one gift on Christmas Eve after we read from Luke, and had overflowing stockings (not 3-feet tall though…I’m not that good of a mom!). Christmas Eve had us all up at my husband’s parents’ house singing carols and drinking tumbleweeds as everyone griped about (but secretly loved) getting all dressed up. On Christmas morning my mom would come over with my in-laws and they would drink coffee and eat Aunt Sana’s breakfast casserole and cheesy grits with us while we watched the kids do their thing. Pure evergreen-scented bliss.
This year is harder though. This year I’m not sure what it’s going to look like. My mom is still here, but she isn’t. I decorated her room a little bit, but when I turned Manheim Steamroller on her CD player she yelled at me that it was too much noise. She doesn’t want a tree, but she let me put up a wreath and a little nativity set. I have my house decorated, but it sure felt like the effort-to-joy ratio was significantly tilted the wrong way. I brought some of my mom’s decorations to my house…the ones that she told the story about every year and wrapped so so carefully at the end of the season. The ones that I knew meant so much to her. The ones that I tried to bring to her at the nursing home that she told me to take back. I put some of them up here, but to be honest? It just makes me sad to see them. I think (although I don’t know for sure) that if she were really gone, then it would still hurt, but hopefully someday that hurt would be gently replaced by bittersweet….then happy….memories. With her still here/not here, with her unable to remember the things that meant so much and brought so much joy, well..it feels like I’m forcing something that isn’t right.
Anyway, the decorations are up and my family seems happy to have the magic being created around them. I’m not sure if bringing my mom here on Christmas Eve or even Christmas day would make her smile or make it worse. We just go day by day and try to adapt, and that’s what we will do on Christmas, I guess. I just wonder if every time I look at the little crystal angel near the top of the tree I’m going to cry, or if that’s just a temporary thing. It seems like it would be ok to tell your kids, “I know we miss Noni,” if she were truly gone…but it feels off to say it when she is just three miles away sitting in her tv-noise-filled room. I know that the first year of “firsts” is the hardest. I guess the “in-between-firsts” aren’t much easier. I know that at some point I’ll put on Manheim Steamroller’s “Silent Night” and smile…but probably not this year.
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