The holiday season always approaches with bittersweetness.
Christmas Day was pretty normal growing up. My brother and I would get up absurdly early and play with Lego quietly in his room until Mom would wake up. Then we’d shuffle downstairs in our housecoats, open our stockings, and wait for my Dad to wake up. Over Montreal-style bagels and orange juice, Dad would distribute the gifts one by one, acting surprised each time as he’d read the label aloud: “to Mica, from … Santa!”. When they were all gone, we’d play for awhile, then my brother, Dad and I would go skiing for the day while Mom prepared the turkey.
By the time we’d get back, Mom would have prepared a delicious spread of turkey, stuffing and vegetables. Rosy-cheeked and happily exhausted from our day on the slopes, we would sit down and devour our meals. “Food always tastes better after exercise!” Dad would would say every time without fail. We’d continue to play, sit around eating candy from our stockings and watch Christmas specials for the rest of the evening until we could barely keep our eyes open, then we’d take our favourite toys and retire to our beds, looking forward to playing with them some more the next day. As my brother and I grew older, we modified the tradition but the spirit was the same. We’d go over for bagels in the morning, exchange gifts and stay for Christmas dinner. Then my brother and I would return to our homes.
About ten years ago, my father was diagnosed with Alzheimers, and since then, the holiday season has taken on a new meaning. My mother hasn’t really felt like celebrating holidays since he was put in long-term care. My Christmas days have involved going to the care facility with my mom and sitting quietly with my dad, who can no longer communicate except through his eyes, and even then, they barely see me. We’d eat their “holiday lunch” with other families and loved ones affected by forms of dementia. It is always so obvious that even though everyone is trying so hard to be joyous, we are all feeling the same melancholy as we recall the days when it wasn’t always this way.
My brother moved to Germany in December of last year to realize his own dreams, so this past year, I’ve been helping my mom cope with the departure of her son in addition to my father’s rapid decline in health, including an extended hospital stay in the spring that had us fearing for the worst. I am becoming increasingly worried about my aging mother’s own well-being, as I’ve noticed more and more changes in her health and behaviour. My brother and I have always been each other’s support structure, looking out for each other, talking about matters of the heart and providing advice. With the distance and time difference, it has been difficult to maintain this connection, and we only barely manage to do so over email and occasional telephone calls.
A couple of months before my brother left for Germany, I met a wonderful man with a large extended family who have been extremely warm and welcoming to me. Aware of my mother’s loneliness, they have even been kind enough to extend invitations to my mother for some events. It has been a strange yet wonderful adjustment going from what felt like a crumbling family to suddenly being spoiled by an extended family of aunts, uncles, grandparents and cousins who all enjoy spending time together. Over the last year, my boyfriend has been helping my mother and myself with hospital trips, and various tasks that my mom needs help with around the house; things that normally my brother and I would help her out with.
Although I am always affected by a slight feeling of loss and emptiness over the holiday season, I have been extremely blessed over the last couple of holiday seasons to the point where I almost forget the sadness that usually accompanies it. And with time, I fully expect the holiday season’s sweetness to overflow onto the bitter and cover it with a soft, snow-like blanket.