At Least We Were All Here

This Christmas, I savored every moment.  My kids were all home.  All three of them slept in their childhood beds under my roof instead of out there on a map in Find My Friends. 

The holidays go by fast.  In years past, I built my hopes up leading up to Christmas.  It would fly by, and it was such a letdown when the kids went back to college or to their own homes again. 

Not this year. 

I was determined to be fully present. 

I took a mental picture of their messy hair when they came down the stairs at noon after a long sleep-in.  I noticed the noise, the hum of voices in other rooms, siblings catching up and laughing together.  The barking of dogs, not used to all of the commotion.  The smell of my daughter’s perfume in the air.  I even savored the mess. 

I ignored my usual instinct to stay home, and we went out to delightful dinners and even played pool at a billiard hall and ate BLT pizza and had cocktails at a speakeasy.  We filled every day with conversation, movies, food, and sweets.  And I really did soak it all in. 

I took many conscious deep breaths and, each time, thought, “All is well.”  And, like last year, it was over too fast.  But I felt like I held onto the memories in a tender way, knowing that they had the potential to heal the part of my heart that misses my kids when they are gone.  Hoping that those memories would hold me for a while. 

It turns out - I would need them.

My mother wasn’t feeling well on Christmas Eve and had to go home early.  On Christmas day, we went to her condo and brought her gifts.  As we were leaving, I said, “I’m sorry you aren’t feeling well.”  She said, “That’s okay.  It was a quiet Christmas, but at least we were all here.”

Three days later, I had to take her to the emergency room. 

She finally got a diagnosis explaining why she felt so terrible.  She has to have a very intense surgery that will likely leave her with a long recovery.  It is much worse than we had even imagined.  She will live.  That is a blessing.  But she will go through hell to get to the other side of this. 

I thought about the essay I wrote about being able to be okay even if she isn’t.  And it is harder than words on paper make it out to be.  I am so worried for her.  I can’t stand it, and I don’t understand why the universe has put this in front of her.  She’s had many challenges in life and survived so many things. 

I know she is strong enough to handle this.  I know that I am too.

When I feel fearful, I am going to try and remember all of the times my mother and I have faced really hard things and come out the other side.  Better.  Stronger.  Happier.

I will hold onto the memories of this holiday season.  All of us together. 

My mom is right. At least we were all here.  

I pray that we are again next Christmas.