The View from Here

I am curled up on the couch with Marley this Christmas Eve, Dan in his chair next to the fireplace. We’ve turned off the television and are enjoying the festive lights and relative quiet here in our Southside, Birmingham, neighborhood (other than the occasional fireworks). The comforting hiss of the gas fireplace accompanying the blessed almost silence. So many things are swirling through my mind as I look around our home filled with such holiday cheer; memories both joyful and heartbreaking, worries about the future, worries about dear friends…life is just not easy right now for so many of us. I’m trying to sort through it all and instead keep getting entangled in memories with every step I take. Such a deep and turbulent well of emotions.

This has been a more somber holiday than most- understandably with Covid, but it’s more than that, more than just sorting through all of the madness that is life right now. Yes, the existential questions are there, but so are those questions that hit closer to home. My husband is beginning to see the signs of increasing memory issues, possibly made worse by long haul Covid. He is still very much himself, he functions as he always has, is on top of things, but he is getting more and more forgetful, directions are leaving his memory, and he is becoming more withdrawn. The hardest part is that he recognizes what is happening in real time and it scares him, understandably so. All of it breaks my heart, terrifies me, makes me angry. This man is my heart, my soulmate; I finally found him and have enjoyed such a happy and fulfilling life with him. I would do anything to keep him safe, but this is a battle with a shadowy villain and neither of us is sure how or if we can defeat it. One day at a time, keeping the faith and holding on tight to each other- it’s all we can do right now.

December 26th…

Dan went in and out of a dark place over the holiday, feeling nostalgic and feeling sadness over those missing from our celebrations. He said he is also mourning the loss of himself as he faces increasing memory loss. His missing pieces. I understand and told him to feel what he needed to feel. It’s tough; Dan is usually such a jovial person and I am always determined to be happy and to carry on with our holiday traditions. We made it work, though, and ended up having a truly lovely day of togetherness and celebration, accepting that we had to make room for those feelings of grief and loss. Life is never just one thing, is it?

I sat in the quiet staring our our beautiful Christmas tree, my mind seeing the Christmas trees from my childhood and remembering the pure unadulterated joy that I felt in those early morning hours, even before the chaotic unwrapping of gifts. Mom loved Christmas more than any person that I’ve ever known, embracing her inner child even into her nineties. I never had children, but if I had, I would have wanted to capture what Mom created for me year after year, gifting me with a love of the holiday that really has nothing to do with presents. It is the spirit of childlike joy, the beauty of the lights, the tree, the ornaments filled with little stories of our lives. I love the way that people are nicer to each other during the holidays and wish we could somehow bottle that hold onto it.

I knew I’d feel the Christmas spirit when I started my annual tradition of baking cookies for friends, neighbors, and Mom’s friends at Princeton Towers (aka, The Home for Wayward Seniors). I put my earbuds in and cranked up Christmas tunes on Pandora, dancing and singing as I baked, Marley standing guard just in case anything should drop to the floor. I delivered cookies to friends and neighbors and then made the eight-minute drive that I know so well to Princeton Towers. Mom’s best buddy Linda was hurting a lot this year, but we still had a nice visit and I enjoyed seeing their decorations and handing baggies of cookies and candies out to so many smiling people. Everyone was wearing masks, of course, but their eyes told me what I needed to know. I felt my mother with me, could see her smile and hear her infectious giggles. It is a gift I give myself each year, needing to have that connection with my mom and our own holiday traditions.

I don’t know what the future will bring; I can only do my best to live in the moment and not take anything for granted. I’m trying to wrap my head around it all and gather my strength for whatever may lie ahead and will be here for Dan in whatever way he needs me. I’m grateful that we were able to have our own intimate celebration where we could both be what we needed to be, enjoying the peace and beauty of our wonderfully funky 101 year-old home. There are missing pieces, but we will continue to work on stitching together all of the pieces that remain with determination, understanding, and -as always- great love.