...With Every Christmas Card I Write...

December 13 is the day my Grandma Bessie passed away the year I was ten years old. To experience a death in the family just twelve days before Christmas is tragic for any family. In the case of my family, Grandma was such a special and significant part of our day-to-day life that her loss was especially profound for us all. It had already been an excruciating year for our family because my sister and brother-in-law had lost their five-year-old son to leukemia just six months earlier. It was Grandma who had gently broken that devastating news to me the morning of June 8...

My whole household went into crisis mode for a while. Grandma's death wasn't entirely unexpected (she'd had a fairly major stroke and was losing physical and mental ability on a daily basis). We didn't know, however, what exactly to expect as far as how much time we would still have with her. I've always considered it somewhat of a gift that Grandma slipped away gradually from us, so I had a little time to wrap my head around the concept of losing her before it happened. I remember telling God one night in my prayers when I started to realize she was getting worse that it was OK to take Grandma if she were suffering, because the thought of that was worse than losing her.

I still remember that December 13. I was walking up our street on my way home from school. As soon as I saw Uncle Roy's red car parked in front of our house (he traditionally visited only on Sunday afternoons) I knew something had happened. I was greeted by Mom sitting in the dining room. "It's over," was all she said to me.

Dad disappeared to the bedroom and I don't think I saw him for a couple days. When I finally did see him, I could tell by his red and swollen eyes that he'd been crying a lot. I always admired the fact that Dad would freely get choked up at a sad movie or an emotional episode on TV, but seeing his abject grief at the loss of his mother really affected me. It actually helped me realize that I was not the only one who was overwhelmed with grief. Mom, as always, was outwardly strong and showed little emotion. That was her way - to be the picture of calm and collected.

I guess I had the need to help my family regain a sense of normalcy. What I decided to do - at the tender age of ten - was to take it upon myself to write out and send the Christmas cards. They had been bought, but then pushed aside when this great tragedy struck our family. I remember sitting at the secretary that my Great Aunt Carrie had left to me with boxes of cards and Mom's address book - the one that had big orange chrysanthemums all over it.

Christmas went on as normally as could be expected that year. I do remember that it was my first Christmas Eve alone in my own bed. I had an awful lot of trouble falling asleep that night. It must have been difficult sorting out the paradox of feeling so sad and lonely, but at the same time having the expectation of Christmas joy. Once the house was quiet, I got out of bed and found Mom sitting in the dining room alone with just the lights of the Christmas tree sparkling behind her. She asked if I was feeling sad, and I told her I was. She offered to let me open a gift from under the tree to help me feel better...

Not wanting to spoil my Christmas morning fun, I strategically chose a small one that looked like it might hold the key to some peace of mind...

Here's a photo from my sixth Christmas. The tree was always situated in the same spot in the front dining room window. Virtually the same scene each year...only the gifts changed...Ahhh, tradition! Our dining room was the biggest room of our house, and that's a good thing, too, since just to feed our immediate family we needed a table for ten!

The gift I opened that melancholy Christmas Eve was a refill kit for the rock polisher I'd desperately desired! So it was like opening two gifts, since I deduced I'd be getting the rock polisher too! I always felt that was Grandma sending me a smile on that special night...

I don't ordinarily acknowledge the day someone dies -I think that's morose. Because it was at such a significant time of the year, though, I always think about her on December 13. I also celebrate her on her birthday - March 7 - and every day.

So, today as I write out my Christmas cards, I'm trying not to feel sad. Grandma Bessie is with me as I send our good wishes out to friends and family. She was with me when I did it when I was ten, and she's with me in my heart today.

Grandma would want me to remember all the Christmases we shared, and carry that joy to my Christmas every year.