Weeks before my mother arrived here for Christmas the phone calls started. Sometimes three, four times a day. The anxious what if phone calls.
I am going to get snowed in if I come to your house.
No, mom, you are not.
What if I get snowed in?
Mom, you will not get snowed in.
I need to do my Christmas shopping.
Mom, you have done your Christmas shopping.
When?
We did your Christmas shopping this year. We got the names from you and thanked all the people who have been so wonderful this year. Your shopping is all done.
Wonderful! she said. Because you know how I love Christmas! ( long pause) What did we get?
Beautiful crystal snowflake ornaments. You picked them out yourself.
When did I do that?
Over Thanksgiving mom- at your sister’s house. It’s all been taken care of for you-
Oh. ( long pause) It takes a village. ( long pause) I was at my sister’s for Thanksgiving?
Yes, mom.
How did I get there?
Dave drove you half the way and cousin Beth the other half.
Did I have a good time?
Yes, mom. You enjoyed seeing everyone.
Oh. What am I doing for Christmas?
You are coming here mom. To spend Christmas with us.
Oh! ( with great glee) What a great idea! A New England Christmas. Just tell me where to be and I will be there.
We are working on the details. I promise to let you know.
I need my credit card Gloria, I need to do my Christmas shopping. Tell Chris I need my credit card. You know how much I love Christmas and I need to do my shopping. I need to bake pecan pies. I need to go to the bank.
Mom, I have to go now. I’ll call you back in a little while. Love you.
Love you too…..wait! Glor, what am I doing for Christmas?
And so went the three weeks prior to Christmas. Every day, four times a day-sometimes more. We conference called with my other two brothers, we wrote reminder notes, the home health care workers did their part-but still, something so ingrained in the recesses of my mother’s brain; making Christmas happen, kept a tap, tap, tapping at her memory.
When are we going Christmas shopping? I have to get some things for my grandchildren.
You already did mom. It has all been done.
Oh. Really? Well, what did I get?
A gumball machine for one, a doll for the other and a Nerf basketball game for the other.
Oh. ( long pause) It takes a village. I need to go shopping for Christmas. Let’s go tomorrow morning.
Ok mom.
But when tomorrow came, and we were dressed and ready to go-all bundled up, lists in hand, day planned out from start to finish, mom would not budge.
Guess what? she said, smirking in a way. I am not going. I am going to stay here. You and Dave can take my credit card and go shopping for me.
You don’t have a credit card anymore mom. You really want to go shopping.
No, I don’t. I want to stay here. You and Dave go. Really. Brother and sister. I don’t have to do what I don’t want to do and I don’t want to go shopping. I can be stubborn you know. I damn near survived everything( and then she would list them all-those things she survived) so if I don’t want to go I don’t have to. She sat there on the sofa, hunkered down with arms folded in her sparkly red reindeer shirt.
We know mom. You said you wanted to go. You have said for three weeks you wanted to go. Let’s go.
No. I am staying here. You two go.
You can’t stay here by yourself mom, let’s all go. We won’t be gone long.
No. I am not going.
One hour later.
Are we going shopping? I need to go Christmas shopping.
My brother and I make the most of the moment, grab our coats, load into the car and go.
I love the way snow makes everything look so unified, mom said, more than once, maybe a dozen times, as we drove through the back roads on the way to the mall.
You’ve never seen a better elf. My mom. She always had a knack for finding the perfect gift for everyone-and I mean everyone. It was as if she would track down significant things that were a reminder of the year we all just lived through. Gifts were symbolic, for fun, for good use even, but always, there was great thought put into each. She started early and finished early-and then there were always those last minute “well, I just thought you should have this” kind of gift. She baked pecan pies, and always remembered who would was to receive one ( “the pecan pie list”) down to the last person who would least expect it- and there she would be, on their door step, pecan pie in hand. Merry Christmas! Too often and without thanks( at least the kind she deserves) she afforded Christmas for many others too. Most who really, truly needed Christmas to happen-( a name from a tree, a family in need,) and then for others who least deserved it ( my opinion,not hers)those who started reminder calls the day after Thanksgiving- just to be sure the expected check would arrive on time. Even now, those are the same people who refuse to be there for her- but were first to call when this year, for the first time, the check did not and will never again, show up on time. Those were also the same people who somehow, as in years past, neglected to send even a Christmas card. But her optimisim prevailed. Still does. It angers me, frustrates me even, but I can’t live her life. We could shop for her, send out Christmas cards on her behalf, gather gifts, make do with the rush of the holiday as if she were living out every memory stored somewhere, in there,but we could not be in her brain to unlock the past-even the long term memories are starting to fade now and the short term are on a constant repeat.
I was anxious for her to be here-wanting so much for her memory to somehow snap out of it. Thinking if I recreated the traditions we did for years as a family she would come back. I shopped for her favorites to have on hand, we redid the guest room for added warmth( my mom hates to be cold) But no. It was my mother, but not. Here she was, but not. Her catch phrases rang true, allowing her to hold on, reclaim, recall, but the vacant pleasantries were in place of the real mom we knew. Christmas morning, with Santa droppings on display, her favorite part of Christmas did not give way to her locked up mind. This was always her very favorite part of Christmas. Even when we were in college, she would stay up until we were all asleep and leave out Santa items- then not let any one of us sneak into the living room until she was there first to see it all. The big reveal. This was her big moment. She lived for these kinds of moments. Really.
It is not that my mom has gone missing. She is still there, somewhere-or maybe not. Maybe she just escaped-shut down-no matter how much she loves us all- her four children and precious friends-maybe she just wants to go away from whatever choices she did or did not make. I see it in her eyes-they don’t light up anymore. She smiles and she is polite and just as pleasant as you can imagine-infact, sometimes, in an odd sort of way, too pleasant. But maybe, just maybe she wants to fade out to the land of nod, to the forgotten. Maybe years of pleasing other people at her own loss, denying her own anger, thinking she was protecting her children, pushing through when disappointment kept winning- for years- to the point of heartbreak. Is this what happens when we don’t see what we should-when we don’t fight for ourselves? When we continue to remain, always optimistic to the point of despair? I don’t know. I can’t imagine to know, for one minute to imagine the fear, the incredible fear and frustration of losing my memories. .. Losing the essence of who I was, who I am-and face the day to day with new limitations and the lack of independance that always got me through. Gets me through.
The week wrapped up and she and my brother were on their way-keeping our vow to get her home to her own comfort and joy, cats, beach and as many cigarettes as she wants. Soon enough, she would be back and the routine would continue again, her spot of the sofa, the daily paper read and re-read over and over and over again. Her coffee, her cigarettes without regret, and her life, in her moments, in her mind. USAir had other plans however, and hours later my mother and my brother were stranded in Philly,with no relief in sight and no flights leaving. By 11:30pm, my brother and my mother were in a rental car driving down 95 south-onward to homeward bound. Dave drove through the night-mom hung in there and by 8am the next day, they were home. Home. Comfort and joy.
11:00am the next day:
We sure had a nice time at your house. It was so good to be with you all for Christmas.
We did too mom.
You sound like you have a cold. Do you have a cold?
Yes, mom.
We sure had a nice time at your house. It was so good to be with you all for Christmas.
I love you mom. I have to go now.
I look out the window and it is snowing. Big, fluffy unifying flakes.