Christmas 2015

Since the advent of Mom's fall, and subsequent surgery and move to a rehab unit, life has naturally been different this holiday season. Last year we dealt with her breaking her sacrum, and the pain she endured in the recovery was difficult to witness.  This year the pain seems less (Mom can sit in a wheelchair quite well), but the mental confusion and helplessness I'm sensing makes my heart ache for her. There was the poignant scene a few days ago when Mom commented that she hadn’t done any Christmas shopping. I suggested she do what she’d done in the past--give the grandchildren money in a card. So we found cards, a pen, and with my coaching, Mom signed her name on the card for each grandchild. “Oma,” she wrote, or if she found it within herself to make the hand move, “With love, Oma.” “Write here?” she’d ask, trying to hold the pen and touch the card in the proper spot. Her sight nearly gone, the pen would jump from the table to the card to the script of the card’s message. Somehow the letters materialized and I wondered if those would be the last words she’d ever write.

Though the rehab staff didn't recommend it, we decided to bundle Mom up and whisk her to the house to experience Christmas with us.  It felt a bit like we were kidnapping her, and that devious behavior was enough to make the visit even more special.  Mom ate surprisingly well--though it's difficult for her with her sight to assure there's food on her fork or spoon before it reaches her mouth.  And she endured the gift exchange and even seemed to comprehend the goings on--the general discussion and joy we all felt being together.  This is probably Mom's last Christmas with us, and it feels so good to know we celebrated it together. The afterglow of the Christmas of 2015 shines on...