Sunday, December 24, 2017

Reflections on the Morning of Christmas Eve

I'm sitting at the Frothy Monkey having a quick cup of coffee before the day begins in earnest.  The boys and I are going to go see my mom, then we'll head to church for the 4:30 p.m. Christmas Eve service.  I have some wrapping to do and some organizing of presents, but I think I'm finally done with shopping other than picking up some items from Walgreens for Jude's stocking (an old joke b/w us - Santa brings Jude and me things like toothpaste, deodorant, etc. for our stocking).

Tentatively, it looks like Tracy and Gary will pick up my mom tomorrow and take her their house, where we'll have Christmas in the late afternoon.  I think they're going to check the weather and see how my mom is feeling before making the final call on whether to take her out tomorrow afternoon.

It's been a bit of a struggle for me this year to get into the Christmas season.  My mom's plight is never far from my mind and my heart.  It's taken away from my usual enjoyment of December.  Normally, this time of year rejuvenates me emotionally and that just hasn't been the case.  I wonder if that will change for me or if this is just the new normal, given that my mom's condition is not going to improve.  In fact, it's only going to get worse.



I'm trying to appreciate the visits I have with her.  I know, at some point in the not too distant future, she's going to be gone and I'm going to wish I had the ability to stop in and see her - to see her smile and hear her laugh - even for just a few minutes.  This ride we're on with her near the end of her life is strange and complex, in terms of how it makes me feel, not just about her but about life in general. 2017 has been a difficult year for me, probably the worst of my 51 on this earth.

We had a nice visit yesterday afternoon.  When I arrived, she was watching a Christmas movie - The Christmas Project - with a few other residents.  I sat down beside her and as we watched, she laughed and laughed at the movie.  She wasn't really following what was going on but she was enjoying herself.  We didn't say much to each other, but we were content, I think, just being together.  And that meant everything to me.  It really did.

Sometimes I wonder why I continue to post on this blog, particularly since the subject matter has changed from J.P. and Joe to my mom.  Writing helps me work things out in my head, I think.  It allows me to verbalize my emotions and feelings, which in turn helps me understand them.  Part of me feels like I'm going to want a record of this time in my life, even though it's painful to experience now.  I think I want the boys to have a record of the end of my mom's journey, too.

Also - and I should have said this long ago, but I'm going to say it now - it gives me a measure of comfort to know that there are friends and family interested enough in me and my family to read this blog, even occasionally.  It feels like someone is listening to me and, I guess, thinking about me and maybe sending good thoughts my way.

So, thank you for taking the time to listen.  It helps.  It really does.


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