Much of life is a mix of joy and sadness. While Americans have many Christmas traditions, individual families celebrate differently. For some, it is traditional multi-course Christmas Eve dinner, for others a lunch or dinner on Christmas day. For our family it was Christmas breakfast. With Mom being a pastor and my sister and I deeply involved in our own church communities, Christmas Eve was spent at separate churches. Depending on the year, each of us might be enjoying lunch or dinner with our in-laws or with other family. Breakfast together was tradition. Growing up lower middle class and out in the sticks, we weren’t close enough or wealthy enough to indulge in Dunkin’ Donuts’ more than a few occasions a year. Day old Dunkin’ Donuts’ were the centerpiece of our childhood celebration. Christmas morning, we opened stockings, drank tea with our donuts, and then opened gifts. As adults, we maintained this tradition. We rotated homes, showing up for the early morning donuts, often still donning our pajamas.
When it became evident that Mom would still be in rehab for Christmas, we secretly reserved their private dinning room for Christmas morning. It was already decked out with a Christmas tree and everything. We brought the rest with us: paper products, real tea and filtered water, donuts, and gifts. We arrived early enough to set the place up festively and then went down to surprise Mom. (And yes, most of us went in our pajamas.) I wish I could say that making arrangements ahead of time for Mom to be up and ready to go at 9:00 am, meant that we were able to show up and wheel her down right away, but that’s not true. It took an hour for the nursing home to get Mom cleaned and dressed for the day. While it somewhat ruined the surprise, the impact was no less. Mom was overwhelmed with emotion. She could not understand how the thirteen of us could have all opted to join her there for Christmas. On the contrary, I cannot understand why we would not. It took so little for us to do this for her, and we didn’t even realize this would be our last Christmas together.
What struck me most about Christmas in the rehab/nursing home was how few visitors there were. True, we were there abnormally early, but the facility told us that they were sure the room would be free, because hardly anyone ever reserved it. How much easier it would be to reserve this space and include our loved ones in family celebrations. Birthday parties, holidays, just family gatherings. While checking someone out for the day is ideal, for those who can’t leave, this seems like a pretty sweet alternative. Having been through this with Mom, I can assure you, if I ever face this again, I intend to reserve that room frequently. Bonus: Someone else cleans the room before and after, so no last minute crazy decluttering of the living room so your relatives don’t see what a pig sty you live in. Or maybe that’s just my home.
