December 21 1987 was the first time I remember wishing Christmas wouldn't come at all that year, and I was 10. I was in the fifth grade and my maternal grandmother had been in a bad car accident earlier that year. In 1987 seat belts were not the law, and air bags were yet to be invented, so it was primarily the dash board that broke the impact when she was thrown forward in the accident, and why her body sustained so much damage. I remember visiting her in the hospital and asking to sign her cast, she had signed the many casts I had on various limbs up to that point in my life. I also remember her coming home from the hospital to heal and having to be quiet in the house when we went to visit her on weekends. She was getting better, her bruises slowly fading from deep black and purples to yellow and green. It was eleven years ago now, and yet I remember clearly where I was sitting in the house when Dad told us why Mom was crying after she dropped the phone on the floor in the kitchen.
After weeks of slowly healing from the injuries she sustained in that car accident, my grandmother died of a blood clot that made its way into her lungs. December 21, 1987. To avoid dragging things out through the holidays because of the way things landed in the calendar that year, my family opted to have the funeral before Christmas rather than after. I remember spending time on December 22 and 23 at the funeral home, but oddly enough remember none of the actual service. Instead, I remember attending Christmas Eve service at my grandparents’ church and then going back to their house to open gifts. My grandmother was a shopper who loved to buy gifts for her grand children and, prior to her accident, had done much of her holiday shopping already. With some help from my mother and aunt, she managed to not only finish her gift buying that year, but also get them wrapped and waiting for us under her Christmas tree. She loved Christmas, the decorations, the carols, the gift buying and wrapping, and that magical spark that can only be found in the eyes of a child as they open their gifts on Christmas each year. She could be seen watching from across the room as each neatly wrapped bag or box was torn into and the eventual smile crept across the face of which ever child was opening their gift to find exactly what they had asked for, and often things they didn’t even know they had. That year, the Christmas of 1987, I remember opening my gifts filled with mixed emotions. I was not sure if I should be so happy to have them and on the verge of tears as I looked around the room for the smile on my grandmother’s face as she watched me open her presents. My tears came when I eventually realized that she was not there to see how happy I was to open her Christmas treasures. On the faces that were there that night, I saw smiles masking the tears and I wondered if Christmas would ever be the same.
Partly because I was 10 at the time, and partly because of the way children’s minds manage to forgive and forget things so easily, it only took another year or two before I managed to find my Christmas spirit once again. For Mom, it was not so easy and to this day, she still has a bit of trouble getting into the holiday spirit every year. I don’t recall another year spent wishing Christmas would just somehow not come since 1987, until this year. And, this year it is not me who has lost someone they love. I am just playing a supporting role in this series of events, yet it pains me to see someone I love have to deal with a Christmas spent opening gifts from someone who will not be there to thank with a hug the way we normally do.
We found out on Thanksgiving that Jen's maternal grandmother had advanced stage cancer. She was in the hospital for about a week, and in good spirits when she left for home hoping to enjoy whatever time she may have left. She was looking forward to spending time with her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren for one more Christmas and possibly attending the wedding of one of her eldest grandchildren in the spring of 2009. Toward the end of last week, we got the news that she had taken a turn for the worse and upon visiting her this weekend, it was clear that she likely would not see the end of 2008. Jen and I spent time there this weekend with various members of the family on what can only be described as a death watch. Her house was filled with an eerie sense of calm mixed with laughter and tears as some managed to make peace with the inevitable loss of their mother/grandmother/great grandmother. Thankfully, Jen was among those who found her way to the realization that sooner was far better than later and, though no one can every truly be ready for the loss of a loved one, she was as close to that point as one can get when the call came last night.
December 21, 2008 at approximately 6:30 pm Virginia M Smith died of cancer in her home surrounded by her family. It may not have been the way she wanted to leave this world, but her journey to the inevitable was relatively quick and peaceful. In the end, we all know it was for the best and most are thankful that the end came so quickly. As for this Christmas, plans will not be changed. The family will be gathering at her house on Christmas Day as planned, life moves onward, it is what she would have wanted.
No comments:
Post a Comment