dark and light
Christmas Day was not typical this year. With my mom just beginning to experience the wrenching side effects of her first chemo-treatment, nothing was right. She was stubborn, determined to proceed as though nothing had changed. But of course, everything had. She spent most of the day traveling from house to house, with my father pulling over frequently to allow her to be sick. Finally, she arrived at my home, spent, fragile, and no longer able to put on the brave face. While the kids tore open packages and raced around the room showing them off, my mother huddled in a chair, her eyes closed much of the time, wishing only that she were in her own bed, that this Christmas were over.The rest of us tried to maintain the illusion, tried our best to make it "Christmas as usual." But early in the evening, my mother had had enough. She had just enough energy to make it to the car, her goodbyes half-hearted and barely audible. As I watched her walk across my lawn, leaning heavily on my dad for support, I felt my insides collapse. I wondered if this would be our last Christmas with her, this awful day, memorable only for her palpable absence, in spite of her physical presence. I could feel the hysteria threatening to overwhelm me. My sister reached for me. For once, the roles were reversed, her the stoic one, me the basket case.
I wonder now how terrible the night might have been if not for one unusual event. For the first time, my four year old niece was spending the night with me. Not only was it a first time for Katie, but it was also the first time in my adult life that I have cared for a young child over night. Katie had been looking forward to this for weeks. Throughout the Christmas festivities, her tiny voice had crooned, "I'm gonna spend the night with you-ou." Looking at her gorgeous, joyful face, I wished I could be her for just a moment, be ignorant of my mother's condition and just enjoy the magnificence of Christmas.
She slept in the bed with Joe and me. For at least 30 minutes before she finally slept, she cuddled with me, occasionally cupping my face, kissing my cheek and softly saying, "I love you, Aunt ______." So many times that night my eyes filled with emotions I could never express to innocent little Katie. And yet, she saved me from despair that night. And the next day, somehow, everything did seem better. And once again, hope dared to wrap its tiny arms around my neck.
posted by lit lover at
5:45 PM
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