As we enter the holiday season memories of past holidays begin to surface for each of us. Some are fresh, some are from years back and others are from childhood. Each of these memories bring a smile, a tear, a laugh, feelings of sadness or fondness. We are reminded of both present and past during this season. 

We are surrounded by colorful lights glimmering in the nights, the repetitive sounds of Christmas music everywhere, and a festive mood. For many of us it is hard to face this everyday as we go out into our lives. Our memories of holidays past and a loss or losses surface to remind us that grief is still our companion.  It may have lost its in our face attitude, it may not even be present most of the time, but somehow, the holidays seem to open the door for it to re-enter our lives.

The last Christmas I saw my father and brother they were both dying. My father had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and given 6 months to live. My brother had not told us how close he was to death, although some of us knew he was dying.

It was an incredibly hard Christmas. My father was in nursing care due to his illness and had been there already for several months. My brother was still doing what he could to help my parents, although he was not well. My mother was near an emotional collapse.

The two weeks before Christmas we were having to move my mother from her home in their retirement community into the apartment residences. My younger brothers had flown down from NY to help pack up the house and move her into the apartment. I helped get their large three-bedroom house packed of everything else she would not need in a one-bedroom apartment. We got it done and on the final night, her apartment all set up, pictures hung, furniture in place, bed made, dishes in the cabinets, we all went out for a Christmas dinner.

It was one of the saddest Christmases I can remember. My father was in a wheelchair and had lost so much weight from his illness. He was trying to enjoy but the grief was on his face. We all put on happy faces and told jokes and ate and drank. The next day my brothers flew out and I stayed to be with my parents. 

Our family Christmases had always been big festive parties of food, drink, music, walks in the cold winter air, a beautifully decorated house, cousins, and friends, lots of wrapped gifts and my dad’s famous home-made eggnog! This one was so far from all those cherished happy memories.

As I sat with my mother on Christmas Eve, my dad asleep in the nursing care unit across the street from her new apartment, we shared old memories. It was a tender night, filled with sadness knowing what the future was bringing to us. It was at that time I knew I would be spending the next Christmas alone with my mother. What I didn’t know was that I would become her caregiver in the months to follow, that I would move her from her home of over 67 years to be near me, a state away.

The year after my father and brother died, I moved my mother to assisted living 30 minutes from my house. We spent our first real Christmas together in my home. I pulled out all the stops, tree, lights, presents, music, and lots of good food. She kept telling me to keep decorating, more tree lights, more baubles, more festive things all over my house. We were both trying to make it a festive occasion like so many holidays in our past. I cooked a special dinner for Christmas Eve, a family tradition. We opened one present that eve, another family tradition.

That Christmas was so new to us both. We were like small, excited children again, up early Christmas morning, big breakfast, unwrapping presents. We both felt the curious difference of that Christmas. Afterwards, we sat on my porch that morning in the cold wrapped in blankets drinking champagne, so we could look at the mountains. We both always felt our souls were there, in those ancient Appalachian Mountains. The quiet surrounded us and brought some peace.

We spent many holidays, just the two of us, while she was still alive. Those are memories that only belong to me. Quiet, treasured memories of how we created our own different kind of Christmas.

The holidays are hard in so many ways. They are days of contradictions, joy, sadness, brightness, dark. I no longer celebrate a family Christmas. I do, however, spend time remembering the many joyous Christmases past. I do a little bit of decorating in honor of my mother. She always loved to decorate the house and make it feel warm, colorful, and happy. I have a quiet toast to the members of my family who are now gone. The sadness of that last Christmas dinner, in a restaurant, something we would never have done, reminds me that when you are with your family, the treasures of all the times you have had are always with you.