Finally, It Looks A LOT Like Christmas

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Our front door even says, Welcome Christmas!

It's TRUE! It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, which for me is a Christmas Miracle in itself. I have to admit to being quite a Grinch over the past few years. What I have not allowed myself to write or speak aloud until now is this:

My mother spent 8 years dying of Breast Cancer. Every Christmas had the underlying, unmentioned feeling that it could be mom's last one. She spent her last 4 Christmases either undergoing or finishing treatments. We nick named it the annual Christmas Chemo like it was a seasonal holiday treat like egg nog. And then she died just before Christmas December 12, 2000. Yup. That was the worst Christmas ever. I spent the whole day in bed in a rental house in Nags Head NC with Steve's family. I got up to get very drunk then I went back to bed. Sad really, but, it was my way of coping. On Boxing Day I woke up and carried on.

The Island of Misfit Toys sit on top of my painting.

Each Christmas has passed since then without it's luster. I believe it was because we didn't have my mother's home cooked meals, our Christmas morning rituals sucked because we were missing our matriarch. We tried to hold fast to them and replicate them. On Christmas morning I didn't look across the room to see my mother in her burgundy velour housecoat, her eyes filled with anticipation as we opened our gifts from her. There was just awkward silence and then my voice making stupid jokes to sever the tension. We tell a few "remember when mom" stories then look at the floor, choke back tears and leave the room.

Our trees graced our wedding table. They make me happy.

The wrapped gifts under our tree came from; Santa, the elves, Mrs. Clause, the birds in the back yard feeder and even from the dog. Her tourtieres were always made with fresh ingredients, she made her crusts cutting out holly leaves and berries to decorate the tops, she woke early to make her stuffing from scratch, we would always have to beg her to stop or hurry up so we could open our gifts. Our stockings were filled with the best things in them and even into adulthood included a toy of some sort. Crumbs were left on window sills and carrots were half eaten in the snow. As kids we never clued in that it was always mom or dad who discovered and brought this wondrous Santa evidence to our attention. These are the things I think of every year. These Christmas memories are my mother.

A girl is never ready to lose her mother no matter how old we are. I found out my mother was sick when I turned 20, she died a month before my 28th birthday. Those are the formative years. When a girl discovers her mother is a person, a woman, not just a mother. It's in that time I wanted to know about what my mother thought, dreamed of and wanted for herself and for my sister and I. I know some of these answers. They are pieced together by what my dad, and my aunts have shared, they help fill the hole that mom's passing has left. But, they aren't her words.

I have been angry that my mother never wrote a letter to my sister and I telling us her thoughts. She never pulled out her Christmas cookie recipes to make sure we had them, she never went wedding dress shopping with us just to make sure she saw us in a dress. Other mother's have done this with their daughters when they new they were terminal. Not ours. I can only surmise that she was optimistic to the end that she would beat her cancer and not have to leave us. I hang onto the fragments of my memories of her. I pause when I come across her hand writing on a birthday card tucked away in her makeup case in my drawer. It used to smell of her but has long since faded away.

The mantel in our dining room.

This is the first Christmas I feel Christmassy. It's because of my little girl. It's because I can now share in the delight my mother and father must have shared in as they readied our house for the arrival of old Saint Nick. It's in every cookie I bake, ever gift I wrap and every little bit of decor I place around the house. It's in Finley's face every time I look at her toothy smile shining up at me from her favorite spot at my feet. Christmas is back! It's here in my house as I take from my mother's ideas and replicate them in a way we do when we take on customs making them our own.

Cookies I baked. Not mom's but Joy's (of cooking)

Finley's little shining face looking up at me. Then the Grinch's heart grew and grew!

A beautiful glass ornament from a new and dear friend hangs in the kitchen.

Finley opens a gift from her Grampy (and his new finace') Grammy.

And so this Christmas marks a new chapter. I'm having my Christmas cry while I write this post. Saying goodbye to the last decade of sorrow and hello to new beginnings. Wondrous new beginnings. As evidence by the signs of Christmas all around my house. The fact that I have allowed myself to write this means only one thing. I am finally healing. I am letting mom go and keeping only the very best parts of our story together. Merry Christmas Mom and thank you.

Survivor SHIP: Christmas & The Nose Hair

It was just before Christmas… My mother who had been battling cancer for years was just admit to hospital, again. Oh YAY! What a fabulous new holiday tradition this was turning out to be.

In mom’s illness and absences my father had become completely unaware of himself. He had been holding fast to keep the family together, look after my mother, all the while running a fledgling but very busy contracting business born out of the recession in 93. I don’t think he stopped to look at himself in the mirror - figuratively and literally speaking. He is very generous at the cost of his own needs.

In this case my sister and I had become alarmed at the rate and magnitude of the nose hair growing out of dad’s nose. Honestly, how can he not feel that? My sister and I were both too chicken to bring his grooming to his attention and so while we were alone with mom in her hospital room we decided to ask her to have a talk with dad about his nose hair. If something was not done soon – he would surely trip over them whilst walking up the stairs! We could not afford to have both parents in the hospital.

Mom laughed at our request. We thought she promised us not to say that she was the messenger speaking on behalf of two grown daughters. How ignorant on our part. Neither my sister nor I knew the code of the married couple – who live to share such secrets.

Mom was scheduled to have a few rounds of her annual Christmas chemo and was also about to pop her radiation therapy cherry. What had begun as breast cancer had metastasized into bone cancer and my poor mother was bravely preparing to have her spine radiated. From her hospital bed she showed us the casts the radiologist had made to cover the areas not undergoing the radiation.

Mom showed us all the pen mark ups the radiologists had drawn all over her back and legs. Someone had brought her a package of cartoony thought-bubble stickers with funny and sarcastic captions printed on them. The kind of stickers used on photos. Mom made a game of sticking them on her skin. Hiding them along the highway of green sharpie pen mark-ups to give the nursing staff a chuckle as they readied her for her therapies. Typical of my mother to think of how someone else might feel in her situation. What a card. Her mood was optimistic and so were we. We saw her off to this treatment and headed back to our respective daily activities. Neither Sue nor I thought about the nose hair conversation again as suddenly it seemed there were greater things to worry about.

After completing my last university midterm I headed out to do some Christmas shopping but, my heart was not in it. I was getting over heated in my down coat while wandering around the mall aimlessly looking for wonderful gifts to buy people when the only thing that mattered was my mother's health.

I was growing increasingly impatient with the herds of people pushing and shoving me out of the way. I wondered if I was as invisible as I felt in that moment. I wondered if any of the hurried passersby took a moment to really look at me if they could see the swirl of sadness I was carrying around. If they looked all the way into my being would they see the rock lodged in my chest and the vice grip holding me where my head meets my neck? I wondered what went on in their homes and if they too walked around carrying so much inside. If they did, how is it that they muster the strength to push on?

My thoughts trailed off to stories I have read about people who can lift cars off people at accident scenes and other super human acts of strength. Those people are honoured, as heroes and I know that somehow we are built to bring on the super powers in the face of disaster and despair. While there are no hero biscuits for the family afflicted on the daily with cancer there is survivor ship.

Absently, I wandered over to the Elephant and Castle bar and restaurant and sat down to order a cold beer. I don’t think I had been in this bar since it was a favorite drinking whole for the under-aged back in high school. Ironically, I am carded when I place my order. All around me the bar is filled with jovial office party patrons getting sloshed on the company dollar in the spirit of Christmas.

***

At noon the following day, still lounging around the house in my PJ’s, a reward after cramming for exams. My sister and I casually chat while she feeds her son, Aaron, lunch.

Our neighbours are always very good to us whenever mom heads off to the hospital – they come over bearing gifts of casseroles and salads and buns. Anything they can do to help us out. Today Sue and I watch as baby Aaron chews forever on a piece of beef from a stroganoff.

Michelle

Did you make that?

Sue

No, one of the neighbours dropped it off for our dinner. I thought since it was still warm I would feed it to Aaron.

Aaron still chewing the same bite, sighs, puts his elbow on the table, his tiny hand under his chin to prop up his head and continues to chew. Sue and I start laughing at him.

Sue

He must be hungry! I would have spit that out by now. What’s the stroganoff made of -shoe leather?

The front door opens and Dad comes through the door. He takes of his knock-off beaver fur hat the kind with the ear-flaps that tie over the top. I visualize a film reveal of his nose hair tied neatly in a bow at the top of his head. He pulls off his galoshes, hangs his coat and comes into the kitchen.

Dad

Well helloo there.

He says to us then goes straight for the grand baby to give him a squeeze.

Sue & Michelle

Hiya Pop we say. You home for lunch?

Dad

I guess – what are we having?

Sue

Stroganoff or sandwiches. Take your pick.

Dad

I’ll just have a sandwich.

Silence. We all stare at Aaron. He is still chewing.

Michelle

Um, Sue, maybe you should fish that meat out of his mouth and just feed him the gravy and the noodles?

Dad

Your mother has asked not to have any company up to see her in the hospital. It would be helpful to me if you could share this information.

Sue

Ohkay?

Michelle

No one, as in friends and neighbours or no one, as in her sister and brother or what?

Dad

No. No one. She’ll tell you when she wants to see you. She just wants to be alone right now.

Michelle

But why? What happened?

Dad

The radiation severed her spinal column. She is paralyzed from the waste down. She can’t walk. She can’t feel if she has to go to the bathroom. She does not want to be embarrassed in front of anyone if she has an accident. NO VISITORS PERIOD.

A giant red boxing glove on a mechanical arm flies out of nowhere and punches me square in the stomach. Sue leaves the room. Aaron continues chewing.

***

A few short days before Christmas, and a good week after the no visitor ban was lifted, I popped into see my mother. She was sitting propped up in her bed. She had been given a shower that morning. My sister who was in hairdressing school had come in to cut mom’s hair. Mom was looking more herself than I had seen her look in a long while.

I saddled up beside her gave her a kiss and then pulled out my toiletry case. We had a weekly ritual of manicures and pedicures. My mother, ever the lady, enjoyed to have her nails looking good, especially in the hospital. She always said; no matter how beautiful or expensive your outfit if your nails are chipped and unkempt you will look trashy. Nothing dressed up backless hospital blues and catheters like a coat of Chanel Ruby Red on a lady’s fingers and toes. Classy!

Mom

Look!

Pointing up to the wall at the foot of her bed. I look up. How could I have missed the wall filled with crazy looking construction paper rein deer.

Mom

Louise was in. She brought all this paper, glue and tape. You have to trace your hands for the antlers and then make a deer to hang on the wall. Everyone in the last two days has made one when they came into visit!

Leave it to Louise, my mother’s longtime best, ever, girlfriend to come up with an idea like this.

Mom:

Before we do nails you have to make a deer.

I gotta hand it to Louise it was a clever way to occupy a visit, create a jolly mural and ease the discomfort of seeing my mother in such bad shape. My mother obviously derived so much pleasure from seeing all the deer.

I make a deer, hang it on the wall, study the other hands to see who had made each one. It was uncanny how each deer actually resembles the person who made it. Then we go about discussing Christmas plans while we get down to the business of painting nails.

Mom

I won’t be home for Christmas this year and I haven’t even done my shopping for you girls. Your Aunt Dianne has offered to do some so why don’t you tell me what you would like?

Michelle

Nothing mom. I just want you to feel better and come home.

I barely get this out. I am concentrating on painting her nails but I can’t see through the blurr of tears in my eyes. Be brave, be brave, be brave, I say over and over in my head. The orderly comes in with the dinner tray. Hospital food never looked so good.

***
Christmas day my dad was up early working away in the kitchen. There had been no sign of Santa this year. Not a big deal seeing as we were all adults and Aaron at 15 months was still too small to notice. Dad was on a mission to get the bird into the oven and the rest of the meal going so we could bring Christmas dinner and Christmas cheer to mom’s hospital room.

Dad, Sue and I quietly went about getting everything ready. We made the effort to get all dressed up. Sue dug out Mom’s red weekender wear jacket, she even pinned the Rudolf pin to it’s lapel just like mom always does. She dressed Aaron in a cute fleece tartan outfit with a matching tam. I grabbed a few old photo albums depicting Christmases past and the Christmas stockings. Dad packaged up dinner with plates and silver wear and napkins- the whole nine yards- and off we went to the hospital to have our Christmas with mom.

Totally normal right. We all silently pretended it was. We entered mom’s room with an air of what I can only look back on now as fake forced holiday cheer. Mom was so very happy to see us. She slipped her jacket on over only one arm because the IV was in the way. We laughed, opened presents, leafed through the photo albums while dad and mom told us stories about how late they had stayed up wrapping gifts and how early I had woke them up every year.

I look up at the wall of rein deer. They were there in my peripheral vision the whole time but having seen them a handful of times I had not payed much attention to them.

Mom

Did you seen the rein deer your father made?

Sue and I scrutinize the wall further.

Sue

“OHMIGAWD LOOK!”

On the wall is a construction paper reindeer sporting eye glasses, just like my father’s. But, that was not the alarming or most significant thing about this deer. This deer had NOSE HAIR! The construction paper had been cut into thin strips then dragged over the sharp side of the scissors to make neat curls. The curls were protruding from Daddy rein deer’s nose!

Michelle & Sue

MOM! You said you wouldn’t tell!

Mom

I did no such thing. Your Father and I tell each other everything.

Dad

She’s heavily medicated – stuff just comes out of her mouth. You should hear what else she has told me!

Mom to Dad

You’re bad!

She swats his arm.

Dad still laughing while reaching in his pocket to retrieve a Kleenex. He was laughing so hard his eyes were tearing up. He pats his eyes with the tisue before he speaks.

Dad

The funniest thing, girls, is that I trimmed my nose hair two weeks ago and neither of you noticed.

He was right.

Mom's Christmas Cookies

There is a holiday tradition among the women in my family to exchange Christmas baking. It is a well anticipated gift as each member has their own very special recipes made only at Christmas. Beautifully presented tins filled with the best and most decadent treats you can imagine. Each year the baking presents it's own challenges and the stories that accompany the cookies are as much a part of the gift as the gift itself.

Story lines have included:
* My mixer broke - the motor finally cacked out. ( Aunt Ann)

* I forgot about making mom's Chinese Chews! (Aunt Dianne)

* Did you see the price of almonds this year? You almost didn't get the almond clusters, then I burnt the first damn batch! (Mom)

* The squirrel broke into the back screened in porch and chewed threw the bag of marshmallows, so, I had to make a special trip to the store just to get more and wait in all the lines again! (Aunt Alice)

* I baked an iced and now you have "tree ornaments" -please don't try to eat them. I refuse to pay for your dental work. (Me)

* I baked Martha Stewart's iced sugar cookies ... they all broke on the flight here. Enjoy your tin of crumbs. (Me)

It seems to me, when I look back at Christmas over the years, the one main stay are all the tins of baking. It is also known that over the years my mother spent a lot of time sick and in and out of hospital for various operations and treatments during the Christmas holiday time. In those times the one thing my sister and I knew would make mom happy was to clean her house and help make her Christmas baking. It's as though normalcy in a tumultuous time could be eased by the familiarity of seeing and tasting a once a year treat. If the cookies were there so were we, okay and intact.

As kids, my sister and I were at each other's throats - a lot. But when we chose to work together we really could accomplish a fair bit. One year mom was in hospital for a lady problem operation - I am thinking it was a precursor to the hysterectomy the following Christmas time. Regardless of what it was, mom was not returning home until quite close to Christmas and she was going to have no strength to bake. Sue and I manage to make a double batch of her peanut butter cookies. We decorated each cookie with a slice of red or green maraschino cherry just like mom always did. We were all of 12 and 10 years of age at the time. We kept our baking a secret so we could surprise her when she returned home.

Our mother passed away just before Christmas and so it really put a damper on our Christmases to follow. The second Christmas without our mother was particularily difficult. Living five hours apart, sister and I were on the telephone, I was directing as Sue wandred around the house looking through the cupboards, cookbooks and recipe boxes trying to located mom's cookie recipes. We were going to work on a few recipes each and bring them home to Christmas. A continuity we greatly needed that year. The recipes were no where to be found. We were both annoyed. The cookie recipes are important! Why did mom not put them aside or make sure we had them before she died? We knew of other mothers who were terminal who wrote lovely letters to their children, took them shopping for wedding dresses and did other important mother daughter activities they would miss out on when the time came. Those mothers handed down heirlooms in articles and recipes, and memories as they wanted their legacy to transcend. Not our mother. She did none of these things? Why didn't she, my sister and I would ask each other. Why? We could only surmise that mom must have thought we knew all of these things without having to be told.

Last summer my dad who was preparing to move out of our family home asked me to go through a few things and take what I wanted as he would be doing a thorough clean out when the time came to move. I sat on the floor in front of my mother 's antique cabinet and began pulling out all her cookbooks. She had bazillions! Lo and behold I found a list scribed in my mother's familiar handwriting. Each of her Christmas cookies was written out along with the corresponding cookbook and page number from which she baked from.





I can only figure they were meant to be found some 7 years after her passing because I was ready to find them. Sometimes I just can't see for looking. Likely, I was so deeply routed in my grief I couldn't see until that day last summer.

This year I baked. I was in my new home, my frst marital home, a bun in my oven, the weather a balmy 71 degrees, the windows wide open. I baked my mother's recipes and a few new ones of my own while Pandora Radio played the same 10 Christmas songs over and over by various artists and I sang along, and for the first time I was not sad.



Mom's Thimble Cookies filled with homemade (not by me) strawberry rhubarb jam.



Mrs. Katinis's (Mom & Dad's first landlord) Cookies - A.K.A Almond Crescents

This year for the first time I am able to share my family's tradition with my new family, gifting them with a tiny tin of baked Christmas treats, thus, injecting a little bit of my familiar Christmas into an otherwise unfamiliar one. A small comforting hold on all my Christmases past as I take a huge leap into all my future Christmases.