1995, December, A month to live

Every time I decorate a Christmas tree, I am back in 1995, in the living room with the dusty rose carpet. My mom, wrapped in a blanket, is too weak to even stand up and put ornaments on the tree. She has no hair. Her skin is paper thin. I have this ornament, one I’ve had since I was a toddler. It is a mouse in a mitten, or a sock. I can’t remember. In 2019, that ornament is long gone. In 1995, it’s a part of my childhood. My mom gave it to me long ago.

When I wrap Christmas presents, I remember her. She taught me how to wrap them neatly. Fold the edges into a neat triangle, then fold the end over once more and tape for a uniform look on both sides.

In 1995, I filled my sister’s stocking before I went to bed. First I made sure she was asleep, then I carefully placed items in the oversized sock (literally, you could fit a child in there), and my mom watched my work. When you’re 6, Santa is your hero, so mom made sure she had the stocking full. I don’t remember Christmas morning much. I don’t remember the presents I got that year. My picture is missing pieces. The image burned into my mind is that of my mom, wrapped in her blanket, telling me where to hang the ornaments so the tree looked nice.

 She’d been shopping weeks earlier. She was sick and weak but she had to do her Christmas shopping. She went with her best friends. She had no energy; she was desiccated by chemo. They pushed her in a shopping cart. There are photos of her smiling and laughing.

At Christmas, I have to fight memories and a broken heart. At Christmas, I have to fight to feel the joy my mom was so good at making me feel. Depending on the day, I can feel sadness, joy, or both and everything in between. This year, I find myself seeing the parallels between my life and hers, and I feel the pang of the fact that, were I in her shoes, this would be my last Christmas. I am the age she was when she passed. Were I her, I’d have 36 days left to live. Please forgive me if I am down this holiday season. I’m working hard to embrace my joy, because I really have a blessed life. But the holidays, they are hard, this one more than most.