Christmas

 Christmas

Christmas was pretty low-key around here.  My brother Greg came on Christmas Eve so he could go visit Debbie’s dad in Arkansas on Christmas day, so we really sort of had two Christmases.

It was the first time Greg had seen Mother since October when she was in the nursing home, so he hadn’t seen her since she’d become more or less immobile.  He expected her to be worse, though. She can now maneuver into her walker and visit her chair in the living room again.  

Greg gave her a beautiful card and some chocolate truffles.  The truffles were the perfect choice.  She looked like she was wearing chocolate lipstick after a few of those.

It took a while, but she finally recognized Greg, we think. Miranda, his daughter came, and my boys, and we all had ham for dinner.

The next morning was Christmas.  Everyone slept sort of late, even Chloe.  It’s different when you know Santa Claus isn’t coming anymore.  Our little family and Cord opened our gifts to each other.  Chloe passed them out.  When everyone had a gift but Mother, she picked up her card Greg had given her the day before and held it up for us to see.  “I got this,” she let us know.  Chloe handed her my gift to her, a Betty Boop nightgown.  Those two are about the same age.  She was happy to have a present, but she never opened her other one, a bag with bath soap and lotion.

All day long, she didn’t want to go back to bed.  She asked me, “Where is Wayne?” so she knew it was Christmas and someone was missing.

When Amber made it in, a new generation took over the cooking.  Cord and I worked together on the dressing, and it turned out great, much better than the turkey, which I had taken out of the oven too soon.  Miranda, Amber, and Chloe worked steadily.  

As soon as the turkey baked a little longer, we were ready to eat. For the first time, Slade said the prayer.  Grandma listened intently.  When he said, “And let Grandma go on up to heaven to be with Grandpa,” Mother said, “Amen, amen!”   Everyone had a little giggle. 

She didn’t eat much.  Every time someone put something on her plate, even cranberry sauce, she’d protest, “Just a little bit!  I don’t want any more.”  When she started trying to hand food to everyone else, saying, “Do you want this?” we knew she meant it.

After dinner, she was finally ready for bed.

So, Grandma made it to Christmas, and now we’re starting to think she’ll make it to 2011.