The Last Christmas
ALAN writes:
It was twenty years ago that my mother spent the last Christmas in her apartment at Maryville Gardens, on the property that had once been the site of Maryville College.
It was twenty years ago that I sat there with her as we talked about Christmas memories, listened to Christmas carols and songs, and watched Christmas movies from the 1940s and 1950s.
It was twenty years ago that it became unbearably clear to me and to her that her memory was beginning to fail. It was a preview of what has been called “death in slow motion.” What followed was a three-year nightmare of continued loss, worry, frustration, uncertainty, and regrets. If I felt all those things acutely, as I did, then it must have been so much worse for her. But she never talked much about it, and I never encouraged her to do so. The realization that it was happening was bad enough. She knew there was nothing we could do about it. I knew it too, and I hated it.
On that night, we sat there in the comfort and warmth of her apartment, admiring the beauty of the lights on her Christmas tree and the ornaments that she had made and placed upon it and the Christmas village that she had made and placed under it.
It was the penultimate chapter in her life. She still found pleasure in decorating her Christmas tree and the village beneath it, just as she did when I was a boy in the 1950s and when I must have absorbed some of the joy she felt in looking forward to what for us was the happiest time of year. (more…)
